DCU: Quality Time
by princessebee
Summary: The lair is being fumigated and Joker and Harley have to find somewhere else to stay. Will the various Rogues of Gotham take kindly to the two clowns dropping in for a sleep-over? Pure crack and playful humour kids! Chap 6: The Riddler! COMPLETE!
1. The Exterminator

"Ewwwwwwwwwwww!" Harley Quinn shrieked and went running out of the bedroom, barrelling directly into The Joker who had been coming to see what all the fuss was about, a grin on his face in anticipation of getting a good laugh at his girlfriend's expense.

"Oof! Watch it!" he snarled and Harley leapt back and did a little dance on the spot, jerking her limbs about in a most peculiar manner. He stared at her. This was odd, even for her.

"Sorry, Puddin'," she squeaked, "But the bedroom is crawlin' with _roaches! _Ick ick ick ick!" and she swiped at her arms and kicked her legs out compulsively, as though they were crawling all over her.

The deadly duo had just made good their escape from Arkham Asylum and had headed straight for one of their most secure lairs, all the way over on the other side of town, just outside of it, near the highway to New York. It was high summer and the lair was baking hot inside, having been shut up for several months. Furthermore, it was situated within a very old building made of plaster and wood, rotting and split in a thousand places, the perfect breeding ground for pests.

Joker tsked irritably and pushed past his moll to head into the bedroom, certain she was exaggerating things. He wanted to rest for a couple of hours before beginning his next little game with his second favourite person in all the world (the first being himself), and he wasn't going to let a few stray bugs stop him.

Once he got to the bedroom however, even he had to stop and gape.

The ugly little things were crawling everywhere. There were dozens of them, running along the floorboards, exploring the dressing table, creeping amidst his purple satin sheets. Harley stood behind him, clinging to his elbow and peeking around and when she saw them again it set her off into another fit of squirms. "Icky!" she cried, "Oh Puddin', what are we gonna do? They're everywhere!"

"It's not that bad," he said obstinately, and strode further into the room. "We can just squish them. We could make it into a game. In fact, it's a great opportunity for you to practice your foxtrot, because you're hopeless at that! C'mon, Harls, let your toes twinkle!" and with that he began to beat out a frenzied tapdance on the floorboards, crunching the vile bugs underfoot. "Woo hoo, lookit me go! We'll tally them at the end and see who wins! C'mon, Pooh! Ooh!" as en especially large one crunched under the sole of his asylum slippers, "he was a biggie! He counts as two! Ooh!" he said again, "that one looked like it was carrying eggs! That's gotta be at least a hundred! Hee hee! You'll never catch up at this rate!"

Harley pushed her lips together in a little moue of disgust. "Mistah J, you're getting bug guts everywhere."

The Joker stopped and frowned furiously down at the floorboards, which were, indeed, littered with the splattered corpses of cockroaches. Further more, it did not seem to have significantly reduced the numbers of the little bugs that hurried importantly about the close and steamy room.

"Bleeeh." he pouted. He glared at Harley. Why hadn't she said something earlier? He contemplated making her lick them up, but decided it wasn't worth the hysterics. Besides, she'd want to kiss him at some later stage.

Meanwhile, still twitching, Harley was daintily tip-toeing over to the big custom-built double wardrobe that occupied almost the entire length of one wall. Using the edge of her Arkham pyjama top, she opened the wardrobe door wide, then leapt back.

"My suits!" Joker lamented, leaping over. The cockroaches were busily investigating the various expensive custom suits and shirts and he beat at them furiously. "Get off! Off, you wretched, vile little things! Not that one! That's my favourite!" He yanked out a particularly fine purple worsted wool suit and flung it onto the floor where he proceeded to stamp at it, teeth clenched and eyes bulging. Again and again he stomped on the fabric at any tiny little flicker of movement while Harley watched him with round eyes and lifted brows until finally he came to a stop, panting a little.

Gingerly, he retrieved the crumpled jacket and gagged in horror to see the tiny smeared bodies that were now worked into the weave of the material. He threw the jacket down and screamed at the ceiling.

"This is that insufferable Scarecrow's doing!" he shrieked, "He's discovered it! After all this time, he's finally realised my worst fear! Having nothing to wear! I'll get him for this! He'll know

my wrath!" and shook one white fist vigorously at the ceiling.

Harley, who had meanwhile retrieved one of her own costumes and had carefully shaken it out, shuddering all the while, gently hemmed to get her sweetie's attention.

"Actually, Puddin', I think _that _might be the cause of it all," and Joker whirled around to look where her head inclined.

At the bottom of the wardrobe there was something rotting. It wasn't altogether clear what it was, but it was something that had once been alive. Or at least had been part of something that had once been alive. Practically all of the flesh had been stripped and all that was left was some shrunken muscle and a few gleaming white flashes of bone. Not much of that could be seen, however, as the object was literally crawling with bugs, an ever moving tide of them squirming all over each other. It was clear this was the reason behind the sudden conversion of their private home into Bug City.

"Gee, I wonder how that got there," Harley puzzled, furrowing her brows together and glanced at The Joker who had assumed a vacantly innocent expression.

"Er, uh - don't worry about that!" he snapped hastily. "Worry about how we're going to get rid of these things. Could you vacuum them up? Or maybe one of my toxins would work - say there's a thought - can cockroaches smile, Harley?"

Harley grinned and spun away, skipping over towards the door. "No time for philosophy, Puddin'! Don't you fret your handsome head, I know just the fella to bail us out!"

This piqued Joker's curiosity - Harley - with a solution? What a novel idea! Of course the various times she had made amusing suggestions, organised the lair, found the right henchmen for the job and located the perfect socks to match his tie didn't count, as far as Joker was concerned. It only counted if he noticed it, and that was just a part of every day life. So how could he be expected to notice - and count - it?

He followed her out the door and down the stairs into the large room he used as his office, the huge oak desk with its purple leather inlay sprawling in the middle of it. On the desk sat a bright orange and red plastic phone, a former kid's toy Joker had modified to work. Harley perched herself on the end of his desk, picked up the receiver and began to dial as Joker pretended he had come into the room to count his crayons. He had almost three hundred of them, and no two colours were the same - except lavender. He had about five lavender ones. Lavender was his favourite. They were absolutely _crucial _to his plotting and scheming. He began to chuckle as he picked them up and rolled them between his hand, smelling their strange, crayony-smell. He walked over to where Harley sat with the receiver cradled between her shoulder and her cheek and began to draw big curling eyelashes over her eyes. She batted his hands away and smiled at him and he scribbled on her teeth. She sputtered, and then sat up straight as the other end was answered.

"Hiii," she sang down the line, "the password is '_beetlejuice_'. Put me through - I gotta speak to -" and her eyes gleamed as she announced the name grandly: "- _The Exterminator_."

**ooooo**

The Joker was feeling ripped off.

With all the pomp and ceremony Harley had given this Exterminator fellow, he'd been expecting someone in lots of shiny armour with some sort of tank of poison strapped to his back and big spray guns. Maybe wearing a gas mask with a long nozzle and huge round glass eyes.

Instead, a rather short, round and meek little fellow with coke-bottle glasses had shown up, wheezing and huffing as though every breath was a strain. He was a fellow employed by the mob to fumigate their houses and was considered imminently trustworthy amongst the rogues of Gotham. Of course, he had not anticipated it was The Joker for whom he would be working on this job, and the sight of the tall, lean figure in purple with his overly-friendly and therefore frightening grin, had given the man over to a bad case of the shakes. Joker watched with idle amusement as the fellow stuttered and sputtered his way through his introductions, then wiggled his fingers in a little wave as Harley lead the man upstairs. Harley did not seem to notice anything amiss and was her usual friendly self, assuring the man he could: "help himself to anything in the fridge. Anything that ain't grown mould yet!"

By the time he'd arrived, Harley was properly dressed and had carefully shaken out a few suits for Joker who finally felt like himself again, resplendent in full garb. She'd also packed Joker's crayons up as well as various other sundries she'd declared they would need, including her pop gun, a few other weapons and ammunition, some minor explosives, a game of Yahtzee, two jars of mayonnaise and the whoopee cushion, giving Joker a flirtatious glance with this last item. Joker puzzled over it as Harley explained to the nervous fellow what they needed done

"Harl," he said slumped down low in the passenger seat with his fedora pulled over his eyes as they backed out of the drive. "What're we doing?"

"We can't stay there for a coupla days, Mistah J," she explained briskly. "He's gonna fumigate the place now and then we gotta wait until it's all evaporated or something'. It's poison, ya see, so we can't breathe it in. Well I dunno if it'd really affect us given our 'munities, but the place will be pretty stinky and musty at any - "

"I know that," he snapped, lunging towards her so she squeaked. "I mean, where are we going?"

"Weell," she said tentatively, "I did kinda think maybe we could go to one of the other holes. Problem is, we don't know which ones the B-Man's uncovered during our latest stint in the funny farm and since we only got out a coupla hours ago, the whole city is gonna be on the look out. So I thought - well - we'd have a little slumber party." and she smiled coyly at his raised green eyebrow.

"Slumber party?" he queried with an edge of curiosity.

"Hyeah. Catch up with some old pals."

She blinked nervously and turned her attention back to the road, straining to stay under the speed limit. He sat up, leant over to the driver's side and peered into her face. She gulped.

"_Which_ old pals?"

--

_Huge shout-outs and loves to Gladrial10 who is acting as my beta, keeping me on track and correcting my silly mistakes! Thanks hon!!_


	2. Poison Ivy

Poison Ivy was surprised to hear the knock on her door. She knew there was only one person it could be, but she also did not think Harley and Joker could've had a falling out this quickly. Or maybe that was naïve of her.

Sighing, she carefully put down the test tube and replaced the glass slide under the microscope, then removed her lab jacket and folded it neatly beside the growth of soft, springy moss she used as a chair. As she passed by, she brushed her fingertips affectionately over the plant who had so generously allowed her to use some of its rare pollen for her experiments. She felt the inner life of the plant leap through into her fingers, like a kiss and smiled. She had a special relationship with that one.

The knock came again, a little louder, but she did not hurry herself. Harley had to learn, and some lessons were hard taught. Sure, her home was open to her friend, but she had important business of her own to see to and couldn't just drop everything willy-nilly because the daffy twit had had yet another spat with that vile clown…

Vine leaves twitched and drew back along the walls of the hallway, allowing her to pass through. This safe house was a little more remote than others, standing in the midst of an industrial area in which factories and warehouses lined the streets, along with brothels and strip clubs. It was not the sort of place anyone would expect to find Poison Ivy, which was the whole point, but naturally she made the interior of the house into a verdant haven, alive with plant life of all types. In fact, the walls of the house were basically obscured by this point, as was the carpet and ceilings, which was as she liked it. In such an environment she was almost able to pretend she was not in the city at all, but in some gorgeous tropical wilderness.

She paused to drop a few kisses along the petals of a brilliant red and purple orchid, which seemed to bloom brighter under her touch. _One day_, she thought to herself, one _day I will leave this disgusting metropolis forever__…__ just as soon as I have evened the odds for you, and all of you. My darling baby. _She nuzzled the petals and felt the plant's activity on a molecular level, how it buzzed and thrived and grew excited beneath her touch.

The knock came for a third time and was distinctly louder and she shuddered with irritation. It's not that she didn't feel for Harley and whatever injuries she sustained. But Ivy held that people were accountable for their own actions. And there was no doubting Harley's culpability in this particular situation. And since she was about to enter Ivy's haven, bawling and screeching about her broken heart, Ivy reasoned she had every right to enjoy the last few scant moments of peace before the storm.

At the door she turned around to survey her transformed abode for one final time, relishing its ripe lushness and peacefulness before sighing, and reaching for the knob.

"Hi Red!" Harley chirruped cheerfully, "Surprise!"

Ivy shrieked and slammed the door shut, quaking.

Harley was not bloodied and bruised, or even sobbing. Harley was not even alone. Oh, no. that… that… leering _hyena _was with her. Standing behind her, grinning with that disgusting mouth, hands up on either side of the doorframe, _dominating _her space.

But that wasn't the worst part. Oh no.

Ivy had been growing less and less interested in synthetic fibres, the way they scratched and rubbed against her skin. They felt unnatural and they didn't feel like her. And especially, when she was in her own home, she did not feel a need for them. But even the coverings of moss, lichen and leaf that she created for herself often felt too constrictive. She preferred to let her skin breathe, as Mother Nature intended.

So, she'd answered the door naked.

Giving The Joker, of all creatures, one hell of a gander at her fine physique.

She leaned against the back of the door, shuddering and feeling ill as Joker's laughter creeped in around the seams of the door frame.

"Say Pammy, is it cold in there or are you just happy to see me?"

And Ivy growled viciously to herself and tore at her hair while Harley made an effort to shush her maniacal man.

"Hey Red, don't pay no attention to him, we barely saw anything'! Promise!" Harley continued, pleading and desperate. "Red, you gotta let us in. Our place is being sprayed fer bugs and the entire pig farm is lookin' for us! C'mon, help a pal in need, please?"

She dropped her face into her hands as Harley continued to wheedle and Joker continued to laugh.

"Pleeeeeeease, you won't even know we're there! I promise! It's only until tomorrow night! Oh please Red! Please, Red! I'll be your best friend! Oh - I'm already your best friend - er - I'll - uh - ummm, I'll water all your plants for you, every day! And I won't even complain or ask what the point is!" As Harley begged, Joker's laughter died down to a snicker, and then slowly rose upwards again. Ivy ground her teeth and punched at the wall then immediately went to soothe it, having driven her fist into a patch of brilliant orange fungus. "And I'll hold all your test tubes and I'll look at every plant you want me to and I'll be interested and I won't yawn or call them crummy and I won't complain once about the beet juice - _not once__­ - _and Mistah J will be good too - won't ya Puddin'?"

The Joker's voice came through the door, lecherous and savage: "Oooh, I'll be a _very_ good boy, Pammy, and eat _all _my vegetables. I especially love _TA-matas_. Ow!"

Harley had evidently elbowed her mischievous beau in the ribs and the next time she spoke it was directly through the keyhole in a pleading little whisper:

"Please Red. We got nowhere else to go! If the cops get their hands on us we'll have to go back to Arkham and OW!" Joker had evidently got his own back, "- remember we said we'd spend at least one day at the beach together this summer! I sooooo wanted to show you the sunset at the Hills!"

Ivy sighed. She cared for the girl and often enjoyed their time together, but also felt Harley's priorities were a little - misplaced. And in her heart, she was a loner and preferred her own company to anyone else's. Still. Harley was the only person in the world who could induce her to show even the slightest skerrick of consideration for another human being. But she wasn't going to forget this. Not ever. Harley owed her big. She'd already touched a hand to the wall, urging tendrils of vine to wrap themselves around her and sprout new leaves, covering her body enough that she could open the door again.

Harley squeaked and flung herself upon her friend. "Oh thank you, Red, thank you, you're the best gal pal a gal could have, and that's a fact!" She planted a resounding kiss on the petite redhead's cheek, heedless of the way her friend protested the feeling of the petroleum-based lipstick on her tender skin. Ivy scrubbed at her cheek fiercely - it just _sat_ there, on her beautiful ripe flesh like grease on the water! _Ugh! _How could Harley wear that junk!

Then, The Joker entered. But he entered with his eyes wide and staring, exaggeratedly tapping the wall with his hands, feeling over the fronds and leaves which shrunk away at his touch.

"Where are you, Pammy?" he cried, "I'm afraid I've been blinded! Copped an eyeful a few minutes ago and lost my sight! Oh woe! Will I ever see again!"

Ivy stood there with her arms folded, glaring at Harley who tittered nervously and raised her hands as if to say _what can I do? _And then - to add insult to injury - gave her demented boyfriend a slightly simpering gaze, as though what he was doing _was cute_.

Joker's hand landed heavily on her head and his other on her cheek, and she continued to glare at him as he made a show of feeling downwards. "Pammy, is that you? You feel so - mouldy - been sitting in the dark too long?" When his hands got to her shoulders and beganto continue travelling down, she spoke:

"Any lower, Clown, and you'll get a very nasty rash where no man wants to itch."

Joker dropped his pretence and beamed with nasty satisfaction, bending down to thrust his face right into hers: "Oh Pammy, I see setting down roots hasn't tamed you any! Phew," he continued, swiping his fedora from his head and fanning it in front of his face, "it's like a sauna in here!"

"Well, of course," Ivy bristled as she brushed past the two jackanapes, leading them further into her abode. "These are tropical plants." In the main room her beautiful orchid had closed, clearly upset by the disturbance, and she hurried over to it, lifting it up and humming to it softly. "It's okay, Baby."

Joker watched her, agape for a moment, before turning to Harley and circling a finger next to his ear. She frowned at him before turning to her friend.

"So Red, where can we bunk? I'll get Mistah J settled, then you and I can have a gasbag, howzat?"

_When mushrooms bloom in desert sand_, was what Ivy thought as she watched Joker walk around the room, deliberately exerting his presence on the space, touching anything and everything. Like he would let Harley's attention be on anyone but him for even a few seconds. And _touching_ - touching _everything_! Not only was he wearing leather gloves, he himself was immune to most things, which just made it even worse. He was fingering all sorts of things that could have a really _beautifully_ nasty effect on him, if only… One of these days she was going to have to sit down and concoct something his chemically altered blood could not withstand… yes… one of these days soon.

"Sure, Harl," she said, careful to keep her voice nonchalant. "Try the next room. There should be a bed of giant sapphire-plant leaves big enough for the two of you. Mind you don't tread on the nightfronds. They've just settled in enough to bloom and I don't want them spooked. They're sensitive little things."

Harley gave her a playful salute. "Ay ay, Red! You got it girlfriend!" and skipped away with their suitcase through the curtain of vines which drew back for her.

Ivy sat back down near her experiments, ignoring The Joker who stood across the room and smiled at her. She studiously bent her head and drew her microscope over, peeping through the lens at the specimen she was studying.

She made a great show of focusing all her attention on it, increasing and decreasing the magnetism and making little sounds now and then, as though she'd discovered something. All the while she was aware Joker was just _standing_ there, staring at her. And _smiling._ It began to get on her nerves.

She finished with that slide and placed it carefully aside within a protective cover. She picked up the test tube filled with the extract, and picked up another, containing a combination of various extracts. As she did so, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Joker in her peripheral vision, his tall, skinny purple figure huge in the little room and monstrously out of place, like a bulldozer in a rainforest. He was still just standing there, grinning at her.

"Why don't you sit down, Joker?" she snapped and Joker placed a hand on his chest.

"Gee, Pammy, I thought you'd never ask. And you know me. I wouldn't like to _presume_ anything."

She ground her teeth, her shoulders hunching up to her ears and shut her eyes for a moment, urging herself to breathe calmly. _"__You are superior to him in every way,__"_her inner voice comforted her. _"__Rise above, Pam. Cool green forest. Cool green forest. Rise above.__"_

Joker had wandered over close to where she was sitting and was cautiously examining one of the mossy stools, a dubious look on his face.

"Is this gonna stain my pants?" Joker asked uncertainly, and she beamed a dazzling smile at him.

"I thought you liked green," she said sweetly and he raised one eyebrow at her and the two rogues locked eyes for a moment. They were evenly matched in will, psychosis and general resistance to various nasties and they both knew it. The danger was of equal risk and for a moment the tension crackled between them.

Joker chose to resolve it by dropping himself heavily onto the moss stool, heavily enough it made a squishing sound and shot off a few speckles of damp moss into the air, one of them landing on Ivy's cheek. She let it stay there and turned back to her work.

Joker started to tap his feet on the leafy floorboards. Then he started beating his hands on his knees. Finally, he began to sing 'Black Betty', beating out a rhythmic version of the song. "Black Betty bam-a-lam, Black Betty bam-a-lam, Oh-ho Black Betty bam-a-lam." The problem was, as if that wasn't bad enough, he didn't seem to know any of the other lyrics and just repeated this refrain again and again, accompanied by the stomp of his feet and the clap of his hands until Ivy slammed a fist down on her table, a guttural cry bursting from her throat. She turned blazing green eyes on The Joker who blinked innocent purple ones back at her.

"We're just in such an inspirational environment, Pam, I wanted to add to it with a little music. You know. Food for the soul."

Ivy's eyes rolled back in her head and she whipped back around to her work. The plant she was using had completely shrunken into itself, refusing absolutely to participate with The Joker's disruptive and violent presence in the room. She cooed to it, sang to it softly, stroked it gently with her fingertips, but it remained resolute. _Damn that Clown! _As if he didn't do enough, hurting Harley, driving Harley to invade her safe haven, and dominating the Asylum with his contemptible presence, here he was intimidating her precious plants!

She felt cold dread seep through her as there was a rustling sound and Joker slid over the moss stool to come up close by her.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked in a vague sing-song, all little boy innocence.

She breathed in impatiently through her nostrils.

"Working."

"On what?"

"Things you wouldn't understand." she snapped back. If only the Clown wasn't twice her size and had such high immunity. She'd just spit on him.

"How do _you_ know I wouldn't understand," The Joker sounded haughty. "I'm _excellent_ at chemistry and nuclear biology you know. You're not the _only_ smarty-pants in the gallery, Pam. Not that you wear pants, of course. So do those breathable leafy underdoos stave off thrush?"

Ivy picked up the nearest notebook and turned to swat Joker with it, who screeched with laugher and lifted an arm and leg to block her.

"I give, I give!" he cried merrily. "Yeesh! Lighten up, Pammy."

She glared at him with all the righteous fury she had within her toxic blood, a look that most sensible people cowered before, but the Clown didn't even cringe. Still, his eyes gleamed with faint respect and she spoke through gritted teeth.

"You're only here as a favour to Harley. Find some other way to entertain yourself or it'll really be on, Clown."

And she turned her back to him to end the conversation.

Joker immediately got to his feet and began to swagger insolently around the room. He came to a particularly beautiful and strange bush, dominating one corner of the room. It had a long, thin trunk, with branches that spread out on all sides bearing shiny leaves which were a dark, stormy green. It had enormous yellow buds all over it, some of which had just begun to open beneath the specially installed UV lights.

"This is a nice one," he remarked.

Ivy made a small grunt of acknowledgement and Joker thrust his hands in his pockets and looked up at it, rocking back on his heels.

"Reminds me of the lemon tree we used to have in our back garden when I was a kid."

"Hrmf," Ivy bent over her work, wishing she could block the sound of that insinuating voice out altogether.

"I'd always water it for my mom, every single day. We'd get the biggest, most delicious lemons on the block."

It occurred to Ivy she'd heard Harley at least once mention Joker remembered little of his past, and she drew her brows together in a frown.

"And I'm sure you know, Pammy, just what kind of watering gives lemons their robust flavour."

Ivy's head whipped up and to her horror she saw The Joker unzip his fly.

**ooooo**

Harley had just finished arranging all of Joker's three-hundred crayons in spectrum order alongside the wall when she heard Ivy let out a blood-curdling scream and, alarmed, ran out into the other room.

"What's goin' - hey! Cut it out you two!"

Ivy was attempting to get her hands around The Joker's throat, an expression of bestial fury illuminating her eyes while Joker laughed raucously and held her by both wrists. He was laughing too hard to put much effort into it and Ivy's rage was such that she was almost there. Joker suddenly let go of her wrists and dropped his hands to her side where he began to tickle her. This prompted another shriek from Ivy and Harley bounded across the room and used every inch of her enhanced strength to separate the two.

"Cut it out!" she screeched and Ivy paused in mid-spring, panting, her hair dishevelled in long strands of red and vine around her face, while Joker continued to giggle to himself, wrapping his hands around his stomach. Joker only had a couple of humours in which Harley felt perfectly confident to rouse on him, and his current mood was one. She stood back at glared at the two people she called family.

"Like a coupla kids on summer break!" Harley put her hands on her hips and scolded them. "What a production! You oughta be ashamed of yourselves!" Joker continued to snicker and Ivy continued to pant as Harley turned from one to the other. "What's goin' on out here?"

Ivy levelled an accusatory finger at the grinning jackanape and spat: "_He_ was about to 'water' my rare golden-orb bush!"

"Oh Pam!" Joker got a hold of himself and straightened up, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "If you ask me, your bush _needs_ a little watering!"

Ivy's hands flew up and her fingers clawed at the air as though she would leap on Joker again. Then suddenly she dropped them by her side and her face became still and composed, as lovely as a lily floating on a pond. She turned to Harley and said calmly:

"You can't stay here."

Harley's jaw dropped. "What! But Red! I need ya!"

"No you don't," Ivy said coldly and turned back to her experiment table, a large woody stump. "My home is always open to you when you _do _need me, Harl, but right now it's not. And it's certainly not open to _him_." This last word said with seething savagery, her eyes spitting in Joker's direction, who grinned, and threw up his hands as though to say, _aw shucks, thanks!_

"Red?" Harley opened her eyes as wide as they could go, let her shoulders drop down and stuck out her lower lip, clasping her hands in front of her. Red could _never_ resist this look. "Fer me? Yer best pal in all the world? Pretty please with a totally-organic-completely-pesticide-free cherry on top?"

Ivy did not look up, just drew a small Bunsen burner towards her and started pouring a variety of mixtures into a beaker. "Sorry, Harl. Not this time. I've got important work to do and I can't get it done with Mr. Funny interfering. Why don't you try the Scarecrow - he's staying not too far from here."

Joker straightened right up in that. "'Crow, yes, brilliant, Pam! He owes me for that stunt he pulled back at the lair!"

"Er, I don't think that was him, Puddin'," Harley began but Joker had already whirled on his heel and was heading down the hall, the vine leaves and various foliage pulling back violently in mingled repulsion and relief he was leaving.

Ivy looked up to watch him go with a scowl then flickered her gaze to Harley who was gazing at her with a sheepish and hopeful smile on her face. Ivy narrowed her eyes, then relented.

"We'll go to the beach next week, Harl," she said crisply. "Now, _go!_" And offered her friend a small smile.

It was all Harley needed to be bouncing up and down once again, bounding towards the doorway vibrantly. "Thanks, chickadee, I can't wait! See ya in the funny pages!"

Then she was gone and the room seemed to give an audible sigh of relief. Ivy looked around her at the various trampled stalks and plants and the formerly blooming flowers which had tightly shut and drawn into themselves. Even the tropical heat of the room seemed to have risen to an uncomfortable height, feeling dry as though that repugnant Clown had sucked the moisture from the air. It would take her hours to soothe everyone and get things back to normal.

"The funny pages, huh?" she muttered to herself darkly, shedding the leaf clothing she'd grown up over her at their arrival. "Only if they're mulch."

--

_It's totally awesome to have a avid Joker fan and afficiondo like Gladrial10 beta reading for me. Humour is not my natural genre so it's very comforting to run it through her humour filter! That and she cleans up my sloppy writing too! MWAH!_


	3. The Scarecrow

The Scarecrow was breaking in a new henchman.

His problem was that he could never resist experimenting on them. He had personal theories about the criminal mind - particularly those who were inclined to become henches to the Rogues of Gotham. He hypothesised that it was some sort of Transference Complex - that they were people who lived in fear, perhaps due to some formative incident in their youth or perhaps just by nature - and by becoming henches to some of the most notorious and frightening criminals in the world, they were able to vanquish their fear. Inheriting their boss' power by association.

At least, that's what they _thought_. But, of course, that was an illusion. As he loved to demonstrate to them.

And he was gaining quite a lot of documented evidence to support his theories.

So yes, Scarecrow had gone through numerous henchmen over the years. Not just through his fear toxin, but over gradual months of intimidation, astute observation and keen remarks, unpleasant items slipped cunningly into pockets, exposing them to triggering stimuli and sowing seeds of doubt in regards their loved ones. It was all in the name of science, of course, but he did so enjoy his work.

Unfortunately, it meant that rather a lot of them ended up fleeing town, checking themselves into a clinic or taking a walk off a high perch. So he was always replacing them. And that meant he was always having to train new ones.

Like the fellow in front of him at that moment.

The Scarecrow was a terrifying figure to behold. Six foot in height, with the strange, patched death mask, wide brimmed hat, noose around the neck and bolstered up shoulders, it wasn't simply his ghastly appearance that made him frightening. It was also the slow calm of his movements, the thoughtfulness in the deep-set dark eyes which glittered with quiet contemplation as he beheld one, as though he were looking at the proverbial bug under a microscope. It was the soft, almost dispassionate timbre of his voice, speaking in polite, clipped tones. Essentially, Scarecrow gave off the impression that he already knew any secret you had, and planned to do something with it.

However, the fellow currently in front of him was a former cop. He hadn't had much experience with Scarecrow, but he'd had enough to have seen him without the costume on. He knew he was not much more than a tall, skinny nerd who had bully issues. He was unimpressed, to say the least, and making sure Scarecrow knew it.

His name was Rudy and he was an insolent fellow in his early forties, his nose was blunted across the bridge and his jaw clicked as he popped his gum, betraying the brawls of years past. He postured before his new boss with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, chewing away loudly and fixing the Scarecrow with a singularly impudent gaze, barely disguised contempt in his grey eyes.

The Scarecrow was not perturbed. He calmly enquired into his employee's history:

"You were formerly on the police force. Fired for accepting bribes?"

Rudy smacked his gum and gave a curt nod. "Yeah. Was ratted out by some rookie. I took care-a him."

Beneath his mask, Scarecrow smiled, inclined his head forward. "Your wife left you after that?"

Rudy stopped popping and raised a grizzled eyebrow. "What's that got to do with anything'?"

Scarecrow pressed his fingertips together in barely suppressed glee. He did so love defensiveness - who knew what it concealed!

"You understand I like to know a little about the people I employ. To ensure they're trustworthy. She took your only son with her, didn't she?"

Rudy spat out his gum and scowled in disgust. "Yeah, yeah, my heart bleeds. You gonna show me the ropes here or what?"

The Scarecrow felt the first flicker of irritation. Even those who weren't scared of him in the beginning knew to respect him. He was one of the foremost Rogues in the Gallery! Perhaps he had best expedite this unfortunate fellow's education.

He lifted a hand, on the cusp of giving his wrist the right flick to give Rudy a face-full of his gas, when the factory door was kicked open, slamming back against the wall, and a blur of purple and red and green entered.

"Crow! Old buddy, old pal!" Joker exclaimed, sweeping his fedora off his head and striding towards the Scarecrow with his arms out-stretched. "Ooh!" Joker had taken Scarecrow by both shoulders and was squeezing and patting them. "Scrunchy! If there's anyone who can pull off straw-stuffing, it's you my friend. But uh," and he leaned in close to stage whisper conspiratorially to the psychotic psychiatrist. "You don't want to overdo it. Don't want people to think you're _compensating_ for anything, do you!"

The Scarecrow twitched with irritation. Not only did Joker have no concept of boundaries or respect, not only had he just interrupted him in the middle of a very delicate interrogation, but his mere presence had achieved what Scarecrow's could not: Rudy was staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at The Joker with nothing less than an expression of abject terror. He'd even started to _shake_.

"What do you want, Joker?" Scarecrow enquired shortly, trying not to let his voice rise in volume.

"Oh you want to play it that way do you?" Joker insinuated. "Well, it's like this, paisan - my place is being sprayed for bugs at the moment and simply isn't liveable. Since it's all your fault anyway, I figured you wouldn't mind us bunking with you for a few days!"

Scarecrow felt a wave of anger rise within him. He had no idea what the Clown was talking about. "Do you expect me to believe that?" he said irritably, and grew further irritated he was betraying irritation. "What scheme are you cooking up and why me?"

"Aw, don't be like that, Professah Crane!" Harley had just entered, dragging a suitcase behind them. "Puddin's tellin' the truth - really! You'll let us stay - won'tcha? You know how the coppers can be the first coupla days you bust out - won't give ya a moment's peace!"

Scarecrow felt himself relent somewhat. He'd always had a certain sort of fondness for Harley, who had once given him a gift of a tote bag with a huge grinning skeleton face on it. _"Nightmare Before Christmas!" _she'd chirped, _"I reckon you'd love that movie! Jack is soooo much like you!"_

Joker saw Scarecrow soften, his shoulders relax, and leered down into the villain's death mask face. "There's a chum. Besides, considering what effect your little prank had on my suits, you should be glad this is all I'm asking!"

Scarecrow was still confused as to what Joker was talking about, but nonetheless he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear at the Clown's maliciously gleeful look, and that infuriated him all the more. He was _The Scarecrow. The All Terrible God of Fear! He didn't _know_ fear! He _inflicted _it!_

With that thought in mind he spun to assert himself over the hapless Rudy, who had been momentarily forgotten. Unfortunately, Rudy had taken advantage of that to make good his escape and Scarecrow caught only the tail end of his trench coat departing the factory before the door slammed shut with a terrific bang.

Scarecrow was glad Joker could not see his scowl beneath the mask.

Joker scratched his chest and pulled his mouth down in surprise. "Gee, Scarecrow, your pay must be lousy."

**ooooo**

Scarecrow had taken up residence in a factory that made decorations for Halloween. It was one of Scarecrow's own companies, set up under a different name, and the profits it pulled in for the couple of months prior to October 31st went a reasonable way to funding his activities. All production had been stopped for the off-season, however, and the large, cool factory was the perfect place to hide out and conduct his research.

It was, of course, like a playground to The Joker.

"Batterrrrrrr-up!" He carolled and Harley drew back and threw the small, bright orange plastic pumpkin head.

Joker, in his trousers and shirt sleeves, swung the plastic skeleton leg and hit the pumpkin with all his might. It exploded in a shower of orange shards and The Joker whooped with glee and took off running around the factory.

"Home run!" he shouted as Harley ran to try and retrieve all of the shards before he could get back.

"You say that every time!" Harley squalled.

"I hit a home run every time!"

"None of mine were home runs!"

"You didn't hit any home runs! Duh!"

Joker jumped heavily onto one of the conveyer belts and hurtled down it at a terrific pace. Scarecrow momentarily contemplated flicking the switch and watching Joker take a pratfall, but knew it wouldn't be worth whatever came afterwards. He hadn't forgotten the time Joker had beaten him with a chair.

Scarecrow scowled again and turned his back on the happy duo, trying to concentrate on the book he was reading, a first edition print of _The Heart of Darkness_. Joker had leapt off the belt now and had thrown his arms up in the air as he approached the "base", an inflatable ghost. He took a jump and landed on it with both feet coming down hard, and it popped, expelling the air it held with a terrific sound.

Harley sighed, but couldn't suppress a smile as her boyfriend gave the room a grand and sweeping bow. She used the broken pieces of the pumpkin as confetti, throwing them up in the air around him. Joker suddenly stopped and stood up straight, his back rigid.

"BORED!" He announced violently and Scarecrow cringed.

Joker's eyes whipped savagely onto his petite girlfriend and a vicious smirk edged up the corners of his mouth. Harley's eyes widened in alarm as Joker began to advance on her like a tiger stalking its prey.

"N-now, Puddin'", she began, when she was suddenly saved.

A series of horrified screams rose from another room and Scarecrow rose up out of his seat in alarm as Joker giggled and rubbed his hands together. Usually the sound of screams was a source of pleasure for the Scarecrow, but when Joker was around it could mean something unpleasant for all involved.

"Are you behind that?" he snapped at Joker who placed a wounded hand upon his chest and widened his eyes as though to say, _MOI?_

Scarecrow hurried towards the back of the main factory floor, which led into the rest of it and Joker chortled as he watched him go.

"Oh relax, Craney! I'm just havin' a little fun! Wouldn't want them restin' on their laurels now, would ya!"

Scarecrow fumed as he reached the back passage. Joker had wasted no time poking around when he arrived and had found the backroom where the henches played cards and watched TV in no short order. It had been singularly aggravating to watch as their faces filled with terror and they backed away from the Clown, stammering and stuttering, or simply trying not to be noticed. One fellow in particular had sunk deep into the couch cushions and assumed an expression of numb torpor, clearly trying to look as much like a cushion as possible. Another had choked on his beer nuts. It was insulting and infuriating and what made it worse was the Clown had been all too _aware_ of it, walking right up to the men and greeting each one in turn, casting sly little glances back at Scarecrow as he'd taken their trembling hands and pumped them vigorously.

As he hurtled down the dark passage to where the shrieks were coming from, Scarecrow felt a very foreign sensation of nervousness. The Clown and his moll had been there for almost four hours now. More than enough time to cause a real mess.

He pushed open the backroom door and burst into the room, anticipating a collection of vile horrors and bloodied bodies, but to his surprise beheld nothing more than his henchmen all sitting down quietly going about their usual pursuits. He narrowed his eyes behind the mask and surveyed them all carefully. Yes, they were playing cards, or pool, throwing darts, watching the television, drinking beer. Nothing suspicious and yet - something was wrong.

Very wrong.

One or two of his henches looked up and greeted him with studied nonchalance. He gave them a curt nod and strode further into the room, surveying it suspiciously. What was it?

He had the very peculiar sensation he was a teacher once again, entering to find his classroom of students all too innocently going about their schoolwork. The same sensation that immediately preceded some horribly humiliating prank.

He backed slowly out of the room, and perturbed, began to walk back down the corridor. He had gone no more than a few steps when a series of muffled giggles and hasty shushing followed him. The Scarecrow gave a strangled gasp and whimpered. That insufferable Clown had put them up to this - trust The Joker to know exactly what would throw him off edge, make him feel weak - cowed - bullied. He'd probably even told the henches _why_ it would work.

But the feeling of miserable fear was quickly replaced by burning fury, a rage that boiled and bubbled through every inch of his being and he turned on his heel again and burst once more into the henches' room and let loose a jet of fear gas from both wrists, hazing the entire space with it. He got the supreme satisfaction of watching their faces change from smug amusement to horror-struck as they realised their mistake and then the gas began to take hold.

Feeling much better, he departed to the sounds of their screams and shrieks.

By the time he reached the main floor, he had more or less resolved not to let onto Joker just how much his little 'gag' had irritated him. But that resolution crumpled in the face of a new wave of vexation when he beheld what Joker had managed to accomplish in his absence.

He'd jammed one of the conveyer belts with a wooden stool and was lying on the wide strip of vinyl as it jerked back and forth in a lurching see-saw movement. Furthermore, he'd gone poking into the Scarecrow's private miniature laboratory and had a collection of little vials and bottles scattered on his lap. As Scarecrow entered, Joker tipped his head back and swallowed the entire contents of one bright blue concoction.

"No!" He let out a strangled cry, one hand reaching out as though he might somehow save his precious toxin.

Joker wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and belched loudly, then let his head roll drunkenly.

"Ooooh, lookit the pretty colours!" He giggled. "Not bad, 'Crow, not bad at all!"

Scarecrow fell to his knees, gagging in disbelief. "You fool! That was an extremely difficult to make neurotoxin, designed to specifically draw out the first obscured frightening memory of childhood!"

"Makes me feel all tingly!" Joker enthused and lay back on the conveyer built and sighed and chortled as it continued to lurch back and forth. "I'll take five!" And drunkenly raised his hand, holding up four fingers.

Scarecrow could only stare in dismay.

It had taken _months_ to develop that particular toxin, and whilst he had the recipe, it consisted of some extremely hard-to-get ingredients. And now it was gone - _gone - _ down the gullet of that giggling buffoon, and he didn't even have the consolation of having had an effect on him - apart from making him _high_.

Disbelieving, his over-sized shoulders hunched forward, Scarecrow numbly rose to his feet and staggered over to his sofa. Harley was humming cheerfully to herself, completely oblivious to what was going on, scribbling on one of the walls with Joker's crayons - so far she'd drawn herself and Joker, holding hands and dancing on a gravestone marked: "Fatman". She'd also drawn Arkham Asylum painted purple and red with flowered curtains hanging in all the windows and a swing set in the grounds. This was, apparently, hers and Joker's happy home now that 'Fatman' had passed on.

Scarecrow could only blink at the sight, gripping the arms of his chair in tight fists. Such a sweet child. Vandalising his fear factory. Yes. A sweet child. Were crayons water soluble?

The faint sounds of his henchmen tearing themselves to pieces drifted through the building.

Joker rolled off the conveyer belt and oof-ed when he hit the ground, chuckling. "Say 'Crow, you were a little hard on the boys back there, don'tcha think? What, can't ya take a joke? Hee hee hee! I thought you liked reflecting on old memories!"

Scarecrow ignored him, instead stooping to retrieve his precious copy of _The Heart of Darkness_. He held the beautiful volume in his hands and took in a deep breath. The red leather was smooth beneath his fingertips, its gold tooling gleaming faintly in the dim light. Yes. This was a comfort. This precious book. So valuable it was. Words of a master, fresh off the first press to print them. And his. It belonged to him.

He sighed, somewhat calmed, and went to open the book.

He couldn't do it.

He tried again, but the book stuck. Growing more and more alarmed he shook the book in his hands and wrenched at it, desperately trying to open the pages. It refused absolutely to budge.

A horrible thought struck him and he tossed the book aside and delved into the chest that sat by his chair, filled with similarly rare and valuable volumes. One by one he tried to open them and one by one they refused. There was something hard and rubbery on the outside of the pages, his fingernails gouged into it but it held fast. Glue. Glue! Glue on his antique books, sealing the pages shut! A collection worth in excess of twenty-thousand dollars - ruined!

Scarecrow threw back his head and howled and The Joker's braying laughter rose up to join in. Harley looked over in alarm.

"Whoah, momma." She deadpanned at the sight of Scarecrow falling to his knees, throwing his hands up to the sky and shrieking over a chest of what looked like, to her, mouldy old dust-collectors.

The Scarecrow tore at his costume and wailed, and The Joker cackled all the way through it, the two sounds mingling together to create the most heinous of horror soundtracks. Harley shivered.

"That was worth the wait!" Joker chuckled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes for the second time that day.

Scarecrow leapt to his feet and roared at the Joker who, quick as a flash, swiped one of the glass bottles from the conveyer belt where they clinked together and waggled it dangerously at Scarecrow.

"I could kick your straw-stuffed butt any day of the week, Crane," Joker mocked, "but it wouldn't be as much fun as finding out all the horrible little nasties that dance behind your eyes when you shut them. So c'mon - make my decade."

Scarecrow clawed futilely at the air for a moment then whirled to Harley, who had already began jamming their belongings back into the suitcase.

"Geeeettt oouuuuutttt!" He wailed and Harley nodded frantically.

"Okay, okay, Perfesser. C'mon Mistah J, we gotta go. Maybe Harvey can put us up."

Still cackling, Joker staggered past the livid Scarecrow and waggled his fingers playfully at him. "Thanks, 'Crow, I had a _great_ time! More than made up for that little stunt you pulled on my place! I figured it was only fair - you discovered my greatest fear, so I had to have a little fun with yours! Try eBay, I'm sure you can replace them. Maybe."

Scarecrow clenched his fists together so hard his skin cracked and thin trickles of blood ran between his fingers.

Joker held the little vial up and shook it so its colourful contents shimmered. "If ya don't mind, I'm just takin' one for the road! See ya!"

Joker pushed past Harley and strode out of the factory. Harley turned to throw an apologetic glance back at Scarecrow.

"Real sorry, Perfesser, you know what he's like when he's restless! Hey, let's have that movie night we've been talkin' about - I just know you'll love Nightmare! Mwah!"

And she was gone, slamming the factory door behind them.

Scarecrow continued to quiver, frozen in place, his flesh below the mask damp with furious sweat. His eyes flickered from side to side, taking in Harley's graffiti, the jammed conveyer belt, his gobbled toxins and broken products; his absolutely _ruined_ and devastated rare book collection. Faint screams wafted in from the back room. Four hours. That's all it took.

And he _still_ wasn't sure what the hell Joker had been talking about.

--

_Thanks must, once again, be attributed to the awesome Gladrial10 for an awesome beta-read! Thank you!_


	4. TwoFace

Two-Face and Harvey Dent were often at odds with each other but they both agreed on one thing: they both hated The Joker.

But they also respected him, either as a criminal genius or as a premier rogue in the gallery and so when the mirthful menace had come rapping on their door, it had gone to the coin. And the coin had come up in Joker's favour.

That had been much earlier in the evening and the Clown had been suspiciously quiet since then. It was making both Harvey and Two-Face feel somewhat uneasy, but they were at odds at what to do about it, as Two-Face was distinctly preoccupied with his plans for the evening.

Two-Face was occupying a small, four story boutique building near Chinatown, his main quarters sprawled across the second floor. The Joker had come barging in with his nutty broad in tow, wrapped his arms around him and landed a resounding kiss on his good side. He'd then gone to do the same to the other before pulling a face and jerking back.

"Ugh, well, we're not in Europe after all. Let's just shake instead, eh Harv?"

So Two-Face had put them on the third floor. In his mind, it was a cruel jest indeed, because what could be worse than being subjected to an uneven number like that? No balance. No clean splits.

He glanced around his suite. Like himself, it was split down the middle. On one side, things were orderly, clean and streamlined in crisp black and white. Attractive modern furnishings gleaming with chrome and glass, a leather couch, a large bed and a corner bar. Everything was spotless and in its place, with not so much as the Picasso on the wall even the slightest bit crooked. Strategically set spotlights illuminated it brightly, giving it a warm, sophisticated ambience.

The other side of the room was a different story. It was dark and musty, everything covered with a film of grime. Apart from a set of old, scratched weights and a ragged, patched punching bag, there was nothing particularly in it, just discarded junk Two-Face had finished with and tossed aside - broken appliances, blood-stained suits, shattered bottles of glass. The windows of that side had been painted over and exposed wiring hung from the ceiling.

Two-Face found that while he preferred to live in style there was a compulsion in him to destroy, to vandalise. He resolved the issue by having this other side of the room a dumping ground, it gradually becoming cluttered and overrun with trash. In this way, the two sides of his nature were kept neatly split.

The Clown's cologne still clung to the air on both sides.

After Joker had finally released him, and explained the situation, he'd retrieved his coin and done the toss. Damn. Harvey had even been going to tip off the police. He supposed he might be able to work this to his benefit in some way…

"Fine," he growled, tossing his coin and catching it. "You can stay for the night. But I got a few rules you gotta follow."

Joker had fluttered his lashes. "You know how I love having boundaries to work beyond. Within, that is."

And Harley had stifled a giggle behind one gloved hand, her other looped through her lover's arm. Two-Face had flickered a disdainful look at her before fixing his eyes back on Joker.

"One, I don't want to hear a peep out of you. I've got a major operation going down tonight and I don't need you screwing it up."

Harley mock-saluted with two fingers. "Scout's Honour," she chirped, but he ignored her.

"Two, if I let you stay here, you have to do a favour for me - or Harvey - whatever it is I ask, whenever I ask. Quid pro quo. Got it?"

Joker smiled large and wide and Harley nodded vigorously. "You won't even know we're here, Harv, I promise! And we'll be sure to show our gratitude very keenly!" Joker said and Two-Face eyed him suspiciously.

"The third floor has everything you need," he snarled, feeling an inner sense of satisfaction at this petty indulgence, "But so much as a cackle coming down the staircase and you're both out."

He finished and Joker and Harley both continued to stare at him, wide-eyed and expectant. He scowled at them. "Any questions?"

"Is that it?" Joker asked innocently.

Two-Face glared at the Clown. "Yeah."

"No more?"

"No."

"No more rules for us to follow? Not even one more? Surely you can try for three, Harv." And Harley stifled another giggle.

Two-Face turned his back to the larcenous lovers and began to stride away, jerking with his head to one of his henches.

"Take 'em upstairs. Make sure they've got entertainment. And if I were you, I'd be careful not to wind up being it."

And since then, The Joker had, surprisingly, been true to his word.

Two-Face had laid down the rule without much hope for its being followed. Indeed, he had rather more hoped they wouldn't follow it, thus justifying him kicking them out. But while Harvey was keen to investigate and make sure they weren't up to anything too awful, Two-Face was entirely focused on the operation he had in place for that evening.

It was one he'd been saving up for a long time. A special one.

He'd been immediately drawn to the antiquities museum, a pull that plucked at the very core of him. It was located at 2 Twenty-Second Avenue in the Fashion District, for a start, which had made him nearly breathless and struck by compulsive need. But although a great deal of its contents were valuable, the address had seemed so spectacularly special it warranted waiting for an exhibition to match. And finally, the appropriate one had come along. Entitled 'Heaven and Hell' it was a collection of artworks and pieces depicting the dichotomy between the two states so central to the philosophy about the human psyche and how that was represented within religious dogma. Heaven - the state of ecstasy and perfection, purity and beauty. Hell - agony and depravity, horror and defection. And both were eternal. What could more aptly reflect the two states of his own fractured soul? Many of the works were old masterpieces, rare tools or incredible ancient sculptures. The collection was worth a fortune, and it was perfect.

A great deal of planning had gone into this particular heist. The exhibition had only come into town a couple of months ago and he'd selected the date carefully. It was the second day of the second month of the second quarter of the year. He'd much preferred it to have been February, but some things couldn't be helped. It had to be that night, not least because the exhibition was closing the following week. He'd obtained a catalogue and planned for packaging and transportation for each of the items. He had two vans and four men. He himself would arrive separately, and since he counted as two it kept things nice and even. The museum even had a dual security system, both had been studied and learned and would be cracked at precisely the same moment - 2.22am.

Perhaps he had been excessively detailed with this heist. But he felt it deserved it. It was most definitely going to be his crime of the year.

Two-Face paced up and down his second floor suite and glanced at the clock on either side of the room. Both assured him it was a quarter to two. They would be leaving at 2.00am. At this time of night it would only take twenty minutes to get to the Fashion District, with plenty of time to set up.

He took his coin from his pocket and flipped it. Scarred side up. He would leave Joker to his own devices. He glanced upwards at the ceiling and frowned. Unlike the Clown to be so quiet. He was usually putting on a performance of some type. It occurred to him that maybe silence was the performance, in this particular instance - Joker must know how much it was perturbing Two-Face. He was probably giggling himself silly into the bed sheets up there.

He glanced at both clocks again. The one on the right side of the room was a sleek, modern disc on the wall. The one on the left was a bent, warped old mantle clock. Both read 1.55am. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, and dialled the first floor.

"Yeah boss?" Marc answered.

"Bring the cars around. Time to go." Two-Face growled.

"We're still doing the job?" Marc sounded a little confused and Two-Face frowned, his one intact eyebrow drawing heavily into his scarred side.

"Of course. What's the problem, Marc?" Two-Face's voice was low, smooth and unmistakeably dangerous. Marc stammered in response:

"N-nothing, boss. I thought maybe the coin had come -"

"The coin confirmed the job this afternoon. Bring the cars around. Now."

Twenty two minutes later they pulled up on Twenty-Second Avenue, in front of the Antiquities Museum. They had each come from three separate directions and arrived at their destination without any trouble. They met as a group at the back of the museum, the two security system hackers armed with the tools of their trade, the others pure muscle and rearing to go. Two-Face flicked his coin idly as he joined them and asked Marc the time.

Marc checked his watch, and turned a set of knotted brows towards his boss. When he spoke, he still sounded confused:

"Uhh… it's 3.19am, Boss."

Two-Face whipped around, staring at Marc with his raw left eye blazing and furious. Marc quailed.

"No funny stuff, pretty boy. The time."

Marc visible gulped. "No funny stuff, Boss. It's 3.19am On the dot."

"Whaaaaaaattttt?" Two-Face's growl leapt like a scream from his throat. He whirled to his other henches. "What about you? And you?"

They were all visibly quaking in front of their infuriated employer; his temper and ruthlessness was well-renowned and Harvey clearly had nothing to say in this instance. One by one they checked their watches or cellular phones and nodded, confirming what the hapless Marc had just said.

Two-Face's fists clenched and unclenched. It didn't make sense - he'd checked his clocks - both of them - before he left - he'd checked both his watches. He pulled up the sleeves on either arm and checked first the silver Rolex then the beaten old plastic digital. Yes. 2.20am. Just two minutes to go… how could it be…

All of a sudden he flashed back to Joker's arms tight around him, the over familiarity of the embrace, the distracting repulsion of the wet kiss on Harvey's cheek.

A low snarl had begun, deep in the back of his throat and was steadily rising as his henches cautiously began to back away. As the time clicked over to 3.20am, one of his henches suddenly began to sputter. To choke. To cough. To wheeze and to gasp.

And finally he began to laugh.

Two-Face and his three remaining henchmen stood and watched, struck dumb, as the helpless fellow convulsed in hysterics, blood-tinged foam frothing at the corners of his mouth, eyes bulging.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man choked and gagged a final time, then spun in a frenzied dervish before crashing to the stones. At that precise moment, the time clicked to 3.21am and a deafening boom sounded as one of the vans parked at the loading dock of the museum exploded.

Waves of fiery heat washed over the night sky above them and they all ducked as the angry fire sucked oxygen from the air.

Slowly, with singed scalps, and sizzling skin, they stood back and stared, agape, at the burning van and the corpse of one of their fellows for several long, awful moments.

Marc was the first to snap to, lowering his arms from where they protectively covered his face and casting a cautious glance at his employer.

"Boss?"

Two-Face surveyed the destruction for a moment, until a distant siren broke the steady beating sound of the flames.

"Get back to the hideout."

"B-but Boss… the loot…"

"NOW."

**ooooo**

"Jooooookeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" Harvey Two-Face roared as he punched the buttons of the elevator taking him up to the third floor.

His men had vanished onto the first floor as soon as they had got back, getting away from their enraged boss as quickly as their paired set of legs could carry them.

Harvey Two-Face had pummelled into the elevator, heedless to anything else, both visions blotting out red and savage. It had come out, on the way back, that Joker had suggested he and the boys share a bottle of bay rum, and poured the shots himself.

As for how Joker had managed to change the clocks on his own floor - unfortunately, he only had himself to blame for that one. He had, after all, turned his back on Joker when the leering ghoul had first arrived, striding off to see to things elsewhere, leaving Joker attended only by his henches in his own private suite. If the Clown himself had not been responsible, odds were one to one his demented dame had done it, at his instruction.

Both sides were occupied blaming the other for this rookie mistake as the elevator took him agonisingly slowly to the third floor.

The elevator made it and he burst through the doors onto the suite he'd given Joker and Harley, with both weapons drawn and ready to blast a pair of holes in both clowns.

Naturally, the floor was deserted.

He didn't need to look around to know Joker and Harley were long gone. They had probably departed mere moments after he and his henches had.

Still fuming, he decided to forego the elevator and instead barrelled down the stairs to his own level. His fury was immense; he hungered to blow the Clown's brains out, shatter that hideous grin in a spray of blood and teeth, silencing that demented laughter for ever more. Both Two-Face and Harvey Dent were in absolute accord with this desire, no need to flip the coin for this one. Trouble was, he had no way of knowing where the Clown was going, or how far he'd got by then. And, with the explosion of that now obliterated van, there'd be activity of the Bat persuasion in the neighbourhood. He was going to have to even things out with the Clown another time. But even things out he would.

He kicked the door to his suite open and barrelled in, seething with rage, a tingling below the matted scarring of his left side that always began whenever he was truly livid. He loosened this tie, threw off his jacket, tore at his shirt so that the buttons popped and barged, bare-chested, towards the punching bag that hung on the dark side of the room.

But before he could reach it, he drew up short, gaping.

The Clown and his bratty dame had not immediately left, after all. They'd stopped to redecorate.

The room was in disarray. The dark side was bleeding into the lit side; various pieces of junk and trash had been dragged over - and the pristine sleekness was irretrievably marred. The white leather sofa had been dragged over to the dark side and was covered in dusty handprints. The glass coffee table had been smashed and sections of the wall paper torn away with jagged shards of it. Stacks of mouldering old news papers had been torn to shreds and stamped into the shag rug.

Staring at it, he felt something splinter, shatter in the back of his mind. His home - his haven - his orderly space that had been so perfectly compartmentalised - was a shattered, mingling mess of confusion. And staring at it, on top of all else he'd been through that night, he felt the same thing begin to happen within. The neat halves of his nature ruptured and began to overlap and wretched, vile confusion took hold.

Panting, he spun from one side to the other, the desire to have the Clown's skinny white neck between his hands overwhelming. Then he saw it. Stabbed right into the heart of the geometric, double-faced Picasso; a note.

It read:

_Harv, _

_It occurred to me that you're so hung up on black and white _

_you forgot the grey matter in between_

_Remember, what lies twixt Heaven and Hell - Purgatory of course!_

_And this is where you dwell, in your tedious struggle against one or the other_

_There is no duality; nothing is so neat_

_The magic number is THREE, and I'm sure the Judge agrees_

_So I took care of it all for you!_

_No need to thank me, the work is reward enough_

_You can consider us even. I'm not sure for what, but I'm bet there's something._

_xxxxxxxxxx_

_J_

Harvey Two-Face withdrew the pearl-handled revolver and the semi-automatic from his hip holster and blasted the note to shreds.

--

_A sharp eye will note the number 6 is repeated throughout this chapter, as well as the number 3 (half of 6, but you all know that), and that the number 2 is repeated in triplicate more often that not. And HEY, there are three major sixes in Two-Face's aborted crime - OH, that Joker._

_I was really nervous with this chapter so I must give huge thanks to my incredible beta-reader, Gladrial10, for soothing my fears, correcting my erros and keeping me on the right track! Thanks babe!!_


	5. Penguin

All things considered, the evening could not be going better for Oswald Cobblepot.

Antonio Maroni had booked the entire Iceberg Lounge from seven pm until seven am and with a little under four hours to go, Cobblepot was already salivating at the thought of running up the night's tally.

It was Maroni's youngest daughter's sweet sixteen and Antonella had made sure that daddy gave her a night to remember. Apart from the entire Maroni family, the Falcones, the Zuccos and even a good selection of Thornes, there was a broad range of Antonella's friends and their families plus a few b-grade celebrities, bringing the tally of guests to a whopping three-hundred and fifty.

And all of them were guzzling champagne by the caseful and gobbling down trays of the kitchen's finest h'or doureves. Oswald had been charged to see to all the other details and personally and he thought he'd outdone himself. A twelve foot ice sculpture of the birthday girl rose majestically from the centre of the pool and the leopard seals had been temporarily relocated in favour of a couple of tame young dolphins and a selection of tropical fish injected with a special dye that made them glow in various colours. With the club lights down low, they appeared to be glittering sprites moving through the dark water, eliciting delighted gasps from the bevy of young girls, who hadn't quite shaken off the last remnants of their childhood, however hard they strived.

Several fountains had been set up throughout the club, all of them lit with multi-coloured lights and whilst the dolphin handler said the beasts were too distressed by the environment to jump of their own accord, they had enough loyalty to their handler to do it at his command. In addition to plain water, there was towering constructions of champagne glasses burbling with fine champagne. On each table there was a centre-piece of white and ice-pink roses, festooned with crystal beading, set with sixteen silvery-pink candles, which provided the key illumination for the evening. Naturally, Oswald had suggested that Antonio take advantage of Oswald's own merchandising connections and have all the napkins and name plates marked with Antonella's initials and the date as take-home souvenirs for the guests. The cake was a six-foot high white, silver and pink iced monstrosity of chocolate and custard profiteroles bearing a small sugar sculpture of the lady of the evening. A sixteen piece band had played standards until midnight, when one of the hottest DJs had taken over. By then the senior members of the guest list were too far gone to mind the trendy thumping beats, and the DJ was savvy enough to play an occasional remix of Rosemary Clooney or Elvis Presley. The dance floor was pumping with the enthusiastic swaying bodies of the revellers, and those who were either too old or too dignified for such displays clustered at the tables, gossiping happily.

Oswald had already been personally thanked by principal members of all the families and Antonio, sucking back on the Cuban Oswald had given to him, had slapped him on the back and kneaded his shoulder vigorously.

"Outstanding, Oswald," He'd drawled. "Real class show you put on here. My bella bambina couldn't be happier - " With a nod to the brat who was sitting atop the shoulders of a couple of pro-basketballers, wearing a tiara Oswald suspected was _not_ merely rhinestone, " - And neither could we. We'll be spreading the word, my friend, rest assured. Anyone who wants a party to remember - see Cobblepot. We'll be coming back here for my son's twenty-first. The Maronis remember their friends, Oswald."

It was into this merry and immensely gratifying environment that The Joker and Harley Quinn walked.

Oswald had been strutting through the crowd, ebony cigarette holder clamped between his teeth, chest proudly puffed out and nose in the air, looking never more like his criminal alias than at that moment. When he caught side of the tall, lanky, purple-clad figure and his petite, red-and-black companion weaving their way through the crowds, he physically deflated. His lower lip sagged and the cigarette holder fell with a clatter to the marble floor.

It was Gotham after all, and people drew back with gasps and murmurs as the Clown proudly sidled through the club, his moll sashaying beside him, arms linked. There could be no question this was the real deal - the smirking confidence, the grin, the theatrical gestures all indicated this was indeed the Clown Prince of Crime - and Oswald tasted the oysters he'd had for dinner as Joker tossed his fedora and overcoat to the maitre'd.

_If the Maronis saw one of the 'Masks' here, he'd be ruined. _Fortunately for him, the majority of the mob families were on an upper level, set back from the railing, the better that new guests could be led up to be 'presented'. They were all engrossed in conversation with each other, and had long since ceased paying attention to the kids downstairs. He began to elbow his way frantically through the crowd towards the two clowns.

But, it _was_ Gotham, after all, and considering that the majority of guests in the club at that moment were from crime families, or friends with crime families, the appearance of the rogues seemed to instead thrill the crowd rather than horrify them. There was nothing so mythic or glamorous as a Rogue of Gotham - and with the weight of legend, their danger could easily be forgotten. Even one like The Joker - who everyone with half a brain knew to turn tail and run at sight of. Clearly, the Iceberg was that night filled with people uniquely devoid of much brain matter supplemented with an extremely unhealthy dose of alcohol.

As Oswald hurried past he overheard one starlet exclaim enthusiastically to a businessman: "Oh my _God,_ I can't believe Nella got _The Joker_ to her party! This is the coolest party I've ever been at! I've _got_ to get a photo with him! He's _soooo_ tall and what a snappy dresser!"

_Fools, cretins, idiots_, Oswald quietly fumed as he drew up on the Clown who was at that moment being cautiously surrounded by a throng of tentatively effusive admirers. He stood in the middle of it, hands in his pockets, one leg casually jutting out, smiling graciously as a minor hip-hop singer told him he 'was da man!' Harley Quinn was hanging off his arm, smiling somewhat wearily.

"Joker!" Oswald called out as he got close and Joker snapped to, spreading his arms wide and stepping forward magnanimously.

"Pengers, old buddy! How are ya, mon amis!" Joker bent ostentatiously at the waist to grip both Oswald's arms tightly and this blatant reminder of his mere five feet made the reformed criminal quake with humiliated fury.

"This is a private party, Joker." Oswald returned stiffly. "I have to ask you to leave."

"Aw, don't be like that, Penguin**. **Have a heart for an old friend!" Joker dropped an arm around his shoulder and smiled winningly as the small crowd watched, enraptured.

Oswald shrugged him off. "I'll kindly request that you refrain from applying that moniker to me, Joker." He stated coldly. Joker wasn't even _looking_ at him anymore, instead surveying the crowd with a cunning interest. "And I'm quite serious: You must leave. My guests do not wish to be disturbed this evening."

Joker dropped his eyes down to Oswald, and patted his shoulder cheerfully as he chuckled. "Gee, Pengy, looks to me like 'your guests' are rather relishing the interruption! Clearly this shindig needed a little livening!" It was true; the surrounding guests were either outright staring, pointing and whispering excitedly over their drinks or casting thrilled little glances over from the dance floor. Despite all that, Oswald knew the Maronis would hit the ceiling if they found out one of the freaks had crashed. _Especially_ one like Joker. "Lucky for you I decided to drop in, eh!"

Joker abruptly strode away towards the open bar, leaving his girl behind.

"Hey Mr. Cobblepot!" Harley flashed Oswald a friendly smile, blinking tiredly. Oswald softened a little.

"Good evening, Miss Quinn." He said politely. How a sweet - if somewhat over-energetic - girl like Harley had gotten so attached to a murderous sociopath like Joker was still somewhat beyond his comprehension. "How are you this evening, my dear?"

"To tell ya the truth, I'm bushed!" She said, her shoulders sinking forward. "I don't suppose you got someplace I can have a scrub and a nap, do ya?"

"Well, I -" Oswald began and then broke off as Joker commandeered a tray of champagne from Raven, curling the long fingertips of his free hand beneath the girl's chin, drawing her closer to him. Oswald took off at a short, comical jog towards them. He did _not_ want one of his top girls to suddenly keel over dead.

"Raven, go take the Zuccos some more drinks." He ordered the girl roughly then rounded on Joker who leaned up against the bar and chugged back a glass of champagne in a single gulp.

"Joker, I'm quite serious about this. At another time we might be able to discuss your needs. But not tonight. It's the Maroni Girl's Sweet Sixteen," Oswald snapped urgently, then cut off as Joker's eyes lit up.

"Maroni, eh?" Joker sneered and Oswald cursed himself inwardly. Joker's eyes roved the crowd until they fell on a cluster of young girls who were nudging each other and whispering frantically, all too obviously about the Clown Prince from the way their eyes kept darting over to him. Joker turned to Oswald with a lecherous grin. "Gee, Ozzie, a barely legal party, all for me? Good chap." Joker patronisingly petted the top of Oswald's top hat, and then, to his horror, Joker began to glide towards the girls, who poorly concealed their squeals of delight and excitement.

"Oswald, my man!" One of the lead actors of the current top soap on cable suddenly lurched drunkenly towards Oswald, hugging him tight with one arm. "I can't believe I'm actually at a party with The Joker, man! This is a killer gig!"

"That's what I'm afraid of." Oswald muttered darkly, extricating himself from the actor's hold and hurrying towards the front doors. What the hell had happened to the guards?

Peering out onto the thankfully quiet street beyond, he found out. Six black-suited, beefy bodies were crumpled on the red carpet. One guard's head was turned towards him and he could make out the rictus grin upon it. Oh, _marvellous_.

He hurried inside and frantically indicated to his other guards to get outside and take care of things before any passersby happened to note the odd situation. Then he surveyed the crowd for the clowns. They'd both disappeared. Oh, God, no.

Oswald gave quick orders to some of his men: if they sighted the Clown, they were not to approach him, simply to notify Oswald through their radio communicators. Oswald knew Joker would let him live out of respect to the Gallery; no such mercy would be shown to his henches. Joker didn't even show such mercy to his _own _henches!

He then began to weave his own way through the crowd, keeping his eyes turned upwards. Every time a burst of laughter drifted his way, Oswald froze, momentarily panicked, before it subsided as natural laughter does. So far no senior members of the families had seemed to note the rogues' presence and the revellers who had were too foolish to be anything but impressed.

Oswald was cursing Joker with every colourful word he could think of. It was one of the Clown's most infuriating traits to appear nothing more than charming and harmless when it suited him, only to unleash any manner of unholy terror once he had his audience eating out of his hand. The last thing Oswald needed that night was a mob massacre on his hands. He just prayed Joker had not found the Maroni girl yet.

"Aw, for me, fellas? You sure know how to make a gal smile!"

Oswald whipped around at the sound of that high-pitched voice. A pro-footballer, a pop singer and a talk show host had all cornered Harley Quinn where she perched on the piano, each proffering her a different drink. The attention had seemed to perk her up, she was leaning back on her hands so that her chest attractively jutted up and was smiling winningly at the trio of admirers.

_Oh dear, Joker won't like that_. B-Grade or not, he could very much do without three slaughtered celebrities. He began to hurry over to break up the little coterie when he caught sight of the Clown himself. Joker had commandeered himself a table, a bevy of young women with stars in their eyes clustered around him. He was working the charm, plucking up a napkin ring from the table, performing some swift legerdemain and producing a silk rose he presented to one of the girls, a petite redhead with a generously-padded cleavage. The girls all giggled, swiftly forgetting to be cautious in the face of such old-mannered charm.

_Oh dear, Harley won't like that_, Penguin thought nervously, casting a furtive glance at the harlequin who had already sculled two of the drinks presented to her and was quickly making her way through the third. Dead celebrities was one thing, dead teenaged girls of prominent crime families was entirely another. Oswald abruptly changed direction and steered himself toward the Clown who had wrapped his arms around two of the blushing girls and was grinning rakishly at them.

"Now, tell your Uncle Joker the answer to a little mystery that's puzzling him," Oswald heard the Clown say as he got closer, "Why aren't you gorgeous girls dancing**?"**

One of the girls, a pretty and slightly plump blonde in scarlet rolled her eyes. "None of the boys our age know how to dance." She said disparagingly, and the other girls followed her lead, rolling their eyes and pouting, casting disdainful looks at the young men in their shiny, baggy trousers and five-hundred dollar sunglasses. The girls were all in their formal best and were clearly irritated the boys had not followed suit.

"The only people who know how to dance here are our fathers. Or uncles," another piped up.

"Or cousins**," **the redhead said darkly and the girls all wrinkled their noses as Oswald reached the table, withdrawing a silk handkerchief to mop his brow.

"Joker -" Oswald began, throwing a nervous glance behind him to where Harley had begun performing contortions on the piano to approving roars from a growing audience of intoxicated males.

"Well, never you mind about those young uncultured swine." Joker drew the girls ever closer to him to one or two squeaks. "Your loving Uncle Joker knows how to twinkle his toes. How about he shows you how it's done?"

Before Oswald could say another word the girls chorused their assent and Joker stood, striding past Oswald with girls in tow directly to the centre of the dance floor where he spun the plump blonde out then drew her back in, pulling her up flush against his tall, lean body. The blonde blushed bright red to match her dress and beamed as Joker smiled charmingly and dipped her. The other girls gasped in delight, their eyes round.

"This is sooo much cooler than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie!" The redhead enthused to her companions, who nodded frantically and clapped their hands as the other dancers gradually began to fall back to allow The Joker and his dance companion space to twirl and spin.

Oswald found his fury mounting for an unpleasant variety of reasons. First of all, there was no way he could break up the show - not only would it appear ungracious to his guests (in particular the young girls, who were the stars of the evening) but Joker would doubtless ignore him if he was lucky, and ridicule him if he was unlucky. Either way, it ensured his furthered humiliation. Secondly, his inability to do anything guaranteed that the Maronis would view him as culpable once they inevitably noticed, and privately he agreed. Damnit, he should be able to control this situation! If it were anyone but The Joker **- **They would justifiably be furious. Finally, Joker's effortless seduction of the crowd grated on his every nerve. He _knew_ what the psychopath was capable of. He had even encountered the Clown when he was dripping with blood and delightedly eviscerating a hapless victim. Plus his various crimes and long list of victims was public knowledge. And _still_ the monster had a group of beautiful young girls excitedly waiting to be next to dance with him.The same group of girls who had hid titters and giggles behind their gloved hands on sight of _him_, their _host, _earlier that evening. Damn The Joker. Damn him, straight to hell.

"Hey boys, watch this!" Harley sculled another drink, tossed the glass aside where it shattered against a marble pillar, spraying a sheen of glass over a couple of men who shielded themselves and cheered, then crouched low before springing up into the air, performing a somersault and grabbing hold of one of the chandeliers. She flipped her body up and hooked one leg over a strand of crystals and dangled there, like a trapeze artist, arms outstretched. The five-thousand dollar chandelier creaked and rocked in an alarming fashion and Oswald felt his heart palpitate.

Meanwhile, the DJ had changed the music to suit the dance show Joker and his partner, now the redhead, were putting on. The girl giggled and stumbled as Joker effortlessly guided her, spinning then dipping her to smatterings of applause. He righted the girl who clung to his shoulders, then dropped a hand from her waist to the curve of her under-age rear-end, and pulled her closer against him.

Oswald felt a moment of full-blown panic. He didn't put it past the Joker to know who that girl was the daughter of and if Tony Zucco caught sight of _that_, there'd be instant war. Damn the humiliation, he didn't need the property damage and the police enquiries to contend with. With an unfortunately audible squawk he began barrelling towards the scene while nearby guests exchanged amused and puzzled glances.

But things were only to get worse. The birthday girl had been informed of the very much A-List criminal celebrity in her midst and had elbowed her way through her guests to be presented to him. Upon sight of The Joker caressing the cheek of Tony Zucco's giggling daughter before offering his hands to a dark-skinned brunette, the sweet sixteen put her hands on her hips and pouted.

Antonella was clearly very put out. Here was one of the world's most famous criminals, patently ignoring her - at her own birthday! She tapped her foot irritably for a few minutes, a silver Blahnik encrusted with pink stones to match her Valentino dress, before throwing back her petite shoulders and gliding regally to the dancing couple where she extended a manicured hand to tap Joker's shoulder before having a last minute flash of uncharacteristic nervousness and transferring it to her friend's shoulder instead.

"Nella!' The brunette squeaked. "This is the _best party ever_. How on earth did you get The Joker here? He's so suave - not at all like Daddy says!"

Joker had drawn back with a sly grin that boded very ill as Antonella flustered, pushing back caramel highlighted locks of hair, clearly wanting to fall into the pretence that Joker was an invited guest. Joker took over, sweeping over into a low bow.

"The most radiant star here can only be the Birthday Girl!" He declared gallantly as Oswald felt his knees turns to jelly and leant against a nearby table for support. "Nella, my dear, I am delighted to wish you a most felicitous day." He caught up Antonella's olive-skinned little hand and pressed a soft kiss upon it before righting himself. Antonella, a precocious little prima-donna if ever Oswald had met one, was surprisingly at a loss for words, gaping with round chocolate eyes as Joker caressed her hand with his thumb and stepped just a little closer than was appropriate, smiling down at her with every inch of charisma he possessed. "But would she grace a humble clown with the honour of a dance?"

Antonella - who an hour before the party had commenced had thrown a tantrum that the champagne flowing through the various champagne towers had been pink and gold instead of pink and silver, despite it being explained to her champagne didn't come in silver - opened and shut her mouth like a particularly stupid cod before stammering. "O-of course."

It was all Joker needed. He swept the girl onto the dance floor, turning his head just enough to give Oswald a nasty grin.

So here was the choice Oswald had. Offend the crime families, or offend The Joker. Either way, it was going to be very, very bad for him. He leant heavily on the table as he felt his pulse quicken painfully. His doctor had warned him about his blood pressure. Couldn't get out of control now. There had to be a way this situation could be peacefully and quietly resolved that wouldn't result in a single drop of blood being spilt.

Then he saw it and he knew all hope was gone. The damn DJ had put on a variety of old-fashioned dance classics, and it was prompting the seniors to rise from their tables on the upper level and begin to make their way down the stairs to the dance floor, including Antonio Maroni and his wife.

_Ruined_, was the only thing Oswald could think of as his throat constricted. It can't get any worse than this.

But he'd underestimated the Clown.

As Joker moved the girl in an eye-catching tango, he bent to murmur against her cheek: "So, sweet sixteen and never been kissed?"

Antonella flushed and giggled. She hoped her friends were taking lots of photos that she could put up on her MySpace page. "Kinda." She managed bashfully. Joker was unlike any of the other thugs who'd tried to get her attention that night. He at once thrilled and intimidated her.

"Come on," Joker got close enough his lips almost brushed her cheekbone. "Those lovely lips look far too pristine to have ever been touched. Though I bet many have tried to sully them."

He was too clever for a teenaged girl. He at once praised her purity while acknowledging her desirability. Combined with being in such close and intimate proximity to so infamous a man who danced so beautifully and dressed so dazzlingly and was unexpectedly charming and strong and the usually smug and self-satisfied Antonella was completely bamboozled.

"Well -" She floundered for something clever to say. "- I didn't want it to be just anyone. It has to be someone worthy. I want it to be a memorable moment."

He dipped her low and smiled. "Like this one?"

Her heart lurched and she clung to his shoulder even as his hand on her back held her firm. "Yes," She whispered, eyes wide.

Oswald lurched forward as Antonio Maroni and his wife stepped onto the dance floor, as Harley Quinn paused in her aerial acrobatics to holler for her Puddin's attention, at the precise moment Joker's lips closed on Antonella Maroni's pink-glossed ones.

Oswald barely managed to stop himself from falling to his knees. Everything else might be collapsing in front of him but he still had his dignity. Damnit.

A moment of stillness fell across the crowd as Antonio gagged in horror at the sight and Harley Quinn gasped. What made it _worse_, as if it could conceivably get worse, was that Antonella was all too visibly a willing participant. A vein throbbed in Maroni's forehead as he watched The Joker maul his little girl and Harley's eyes grew slowly and strangely wilder, baring her teeth in a moment of absolute fury.

Someone snapped a photo of the kissing couple and the flash broke the spell. Maroni's hand went for his inner jacket pocket as Joker broke the kiss and straightened the girl back up, a triumphant leer on his devilish face, and Oswald shouted 'no!' and felt himself move forward in slow motion as a dozen other men throughout the crowd all followed suit and reached for their weapons.

"You pasty-faced creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!" Harley's voice shrieked over the music and the enraged moll swung back on the chandelier and swung herself forward, hurtling through the air to land neatly on the ice-sculpture. As she readied herself to push off that and tear her beloved apart, the sculpture rocked, groaned and pitched over, hurtling towards the crowd at an alarming rate. Harley's face wore an eloquent expression of 'uh-oh' as she fell with it and the crowd screamed and tripped over itself as pandemonium broke out.

Oswald could do nothing but gape in horror with his head in his hands as the sculpture hit the marble tiles, Antonella's ice-head breaking off and bouncing across the floor to skid to a stop at Maroni's hand-made Italian shoe.

Joker meanwhile had taken advantage of the distraction to whip a machine gun out of his jacket, levelling it at the gathered group of mobsters. _Oh no, he wouldn't!_ Oswald thought frantically and at that moment Joker screeched: "Hey Maroni, eat lead!" And opened fire.

The mobsters danced as the shots hit their body, jerking rhythmically to the still playing music while the panicking crowd screamed and threw itself to the floor and Antonella shrieked in a panic.

Joker laughed as Harley came hurtling towards him, jumping and running over cowering bodies, screaming: "You cheatin' rat, I'm gonna smack that smirk off -" and easily knocked the butt of his gun against her jaw, momentarily disabling her. He continued to cackle as the mobsters blinked and looked down at themselves where their tailored suits were now splattered with thick, gooey splotches of paint in green, purple and red.

"Lead paint that is!" He crowed triumphantly. "My supplier told me it'll come out in the wash, I wonder if you'd mind being a doll and checking that out for me, there's a pal!"

He dove a hand into his pocket and then bowled its contents out across the tiles. A dozen small balls went scattering throughout the club, each releasing a thick stream of green gas with a hiss.

"C'mon, kiddies!" He shouted as the crowd began to shriek and cough. "It's a party! Lighten up and laugh!"

Harley was on her feet again, frothing at the mouth with indescribable rage, her hands clawed and outstretched to wrap themselves around the Clown's neck. He turned at the last moment and drove his fist into her stomach, before wrenching back on one of her liliripes. She gagged and swiped at the air as he pushed her out at arm's length and made a mocking bow to the birthday girl who stood quaking amidst the huddling, choking guests.

"I'll never forget being your first, my dear, and I'm sure Daddy won't forget it either. I'm sorry to kiss and run but you can't say I didn't make it a memorable evening!"

He whirled, dragging a screeching, struggling Harley Quinn behind him who made a desperate, enraged lurch at Antonella only to be yanked away by The Joker. The crowd was steadily breaking into peals of laughter and Joker sighed happily as he stepped over and across the writhing, hysterical bodies to where Maroni coughed, wheezed and laughed, doubled over on the floor.

"Ant, mi amigo, can't thank you enough for the fun. Particularly the party favours." Joker licked his lips insinuatingly and Maroni made a furious swipe for the Clown's shoe. Joker stepped back delicately and tsked as he stepped away.

"You - ha ha - sick - ha ha - perverted - ha ha ha - creep!" Maroni managed to sputter between his involuntary laughs.

"I'm not finished with you, you creepy clown!" Harley fumed twisting herself out of Joker's grip and stepping in front of her boyfriend as the laughing crowd rolled around them. Joker raised his shoulders and looked at her ingratiatingly.

"Blame it on the champagne, Pooh!"

Oswald himself watched the scene from behind delirious eyes, helpless to stop the hysterical laughter overcoming his body even as he surveyed the horror-scene before him with a sense of nausea and despair, one word circling his head: _Ruined, ruined, ruined! _Joker's spat-clad wingtips stepped into his field of vision and a moment later the smirking Clown himself had crouched down to slap Oswald's cheek companionably.

"Now, don't be sore, Pengers." He smirked. "It was all in fun. What's to bet the little princess laps it up? What's that? My bar tab? All right, you're on. I wager my bar tab Miss Sweet Sixteen ends up riding this for the next six months. In the meanwhile, don't get your bib in a bunch - it's a non-lethal form of my toxin and unless I'm very much mistaken, Batsy has an antidote. Toodles!"

Oswald gagged and slammed a fist against the tiles as Joker straightened up and strode towards the exit, neatly stepping over laughing guests while a still enraged Harley Quinn retrieved her pop gun and aimed it at each of the champagne fountains in turn. They exploded in a shower of glass and alcohol, drenching the laughing guests' finery.

_Remember your blood pressure_, Oswald thought as he collapsed flat on the tiles, rolling over onto his back, feeling his own three-thousand dollar suit begin to soak through, kicking his heels against the marble, helplessly, horribly laughing and gripping his stomach. _He could fix this, he could._

He felt tears begin to squeeze out of his eyes as police sirens sounded in the distance. It shouldn't take more than a waiving of the bill.

_Ruined. _

--

_Sorry for anyone who wanted more blood, but I just don't think Joker is stupid enough to kill a crime boss' daughter. _

_Also, think about how much more awful the thought of his daughter being 'tainted' by Joker will be to Maroni._

_And oh yes – much underaged drinking. I figured Penguin would turn a blind-eye to it and this particular party would be supportive of it for such a 'special' occasion! ;)_

_Thanks again to Gladrial, who rox0rs my little sox0rs!!_


	6. The Riddler

Edward Nigma stood in the centre of his brand new office and preened.

It was a spacious affair on the Upper Eastside, a prime piece of real estate with large, easterly facing windows spanning three full walls, Miller Harbour twinkling in the distance. Before those windows, a long, heavy desk of solid oak sat, set with a custom inlay of green leather. The latest in leather executive chairs loomed behind the desk, also in green.

His brand new green iMac sat gleaming on the desk, along with a set of vintage puzzles - an original rubik cube, an enameled gold Chinese finger trap, a jade puzzle ball, a metal box with no seams or latches discernible to the eye - and an engraved pen and ink set.

The wall opposite the desk was lined with a set of green leather couches and the large rugs that patterned the honey-coloured floorboards were white, decorated with an interlocking pattern of squares in muted green and purple. Adorning the wall were a set of framed newspaper articles, celebrating Nigma's various successes since become a private detective.

To Nigma's eye it was the perfect blend of ultra-modern chic and classic style and he was feeling very, very satisfied with himself when his phone rang.

"Nicely done, Nigma," he praised himself as he stepped over to his desk. "Barely nine am and already the enquiries begin."

Much of his work thus far had been trivial sort of stuff - bread and butter, his integration consultant had told him. But Edward Nigma fared far better on caviar and champagne and was keen to cultivate a higher profile sort of case.

"Edward Nigma's Detective Consultancy, riddle me this and I'll unravel you that."

"Eddie, old pal, how about _you_ riddle _me_ this!"

Edward felt his back muscles seize, his shoulders hunching over at the sound of that wickedly gleeful voice. He recognisedit and it conjured up an overwhelming sense of queasiness. For a brief moment he had a dizzying flash of memory - a dark, cold cell, the splintering pain of broken ribs - then it was gone.

"What is permanently attached to you and yet constantly shifting?" The voice pitched higher at the end in anticipatory amusement and Nigma cast a suddenly anxious eye around his office, expecting something ghastly to happen.

"Joker," he strained to keep his voice steady. "What have you lost? Not your sense of humour I trust."

Joker chortled in glee. "Oh hoo, Eddie, you haven't lost your spunk! Aren't you going to take a stab at answering my little riddle?"

Despite himself, Nigma's mind had already begun turning the riddle over and over in his head, seeking the solution. Combined with the shock of who was on the other end of the line, the ringing of the doorbell only flustered him further.

"Uh, Joker, sorry to disappoint, but these days the only riddles I solve are those I see handsome remuneration for." He gulped at the end of his assertion, a small voice shouting in the back of his head _you're back-talking THE JOKER, Eddie!_

"Aw, c'mon, Eddiekins, for old times sake! I know that little mind of yours can't resist teasing and toying with it anyway!" Joker's voice dropped in an insinuating manner and Nigma shuddered. It perturbed him to think that someone like The Joker had known him on any level of intimacy in his former life. Especially as he couldn't remember it some of it – some of it quite significant, or so his subconscious suggested.

The doorbell buzzed again and he started. He didn't want to lose a potential client. Besides, being on the phone with the Joker was giving him the creeps. The clown's voice seemed to embody sinister intent.

"Those old times have passed into legend for me now, Joker. They may as well have never happened. I have to go, there's someone at the door."

He hit the disconnect button hastily and straightened his purple tie as he walked quickly to the door. He felt suddenly nervous about cutting off the Joker. What if he'd taken offence?

Pausing at the door to ensure his question mark-embossed jacket was neatly buttoned, his gloves pulled tight and his bowler hat at a jaunty angle, he shook thoughts of the Joker (and the riddle, which continued to niggle in the back of his head - eternally attached and yet constantly shifting? Body temperature? No, that was fairly steady and couldn't truly be said to be 'attached' to one) away. Then he quickly withdrew a small pocket mirror and held it up to his face.

"You. Are. A. Genius," he told the reflection and suddenly smiled, feeling fantastic.

Then he unlatched the door and pulled it open.

"Ooooh, did you pick the wrong door!" The Joker cackled and Edward Nigma gasped and stumbled backwards. "And I thought you had a talent for these things. Worked out the answer to my little puzzle yet? No? Tsk tsk," The Joker swaggered into the office, hands in pockets, peering about him curiously. "It's been almost two minutes, Eddie. Don't tell me that knock on the noggin shorted a few circuits."

Nigma cringed. He never liked to feel as though a conversation was going over his head and even though the particular event on which Joker spoke had involved him, his absence of memory on it – as a consequence of the coma – made him feel lost and uncomfortable. He didn't enjoy it one little bit.

But what was he supposed to say?

"A-HEEEMMMM." An irritated voice behind him made him start and he whirled around to find a petite woman in a clown costume glowering at him. The liliripes of her cowl were drooping, her white face paint was cracked and peeling and she was pouting furiously. Harley Quinn. But not the Harley Quinn he remembered – the Harley Quinn who had been perky, ebullient and every-ready with a smile.

"Ya mind if I squeeze past there, Puzzles?" She snapped, then went stropping past him, shoving him roughly to one side. He blinked as she flounced into the office, heading straight for one of his expensive new couches. He'd always had the impression Quinn was generally a rather charming girl with an almost-constant friendly disposition.

Joker meanwhile, had strode over to the windows and stood before them with arms outstretched.

"Wowee, cop the view out here! Bet you know all your neighbours' dirty secrets, eh Eddiekins?" Joker snickered and Nigma suddenly clicked to the fact that anyone in the neighbouring buildings might glance across and see him, arespectable law-abiding detective, entertaining the country's most renowned psychopath.

He leapt across the room and hastily hit the button that operated the electronic blinds, the sun-blocking fabric unfolding with a soft whirr.

Joker turned to him with an expression of exaggerated hurt. "Eddie, you wound me to the quick! Don't tell me you're embarrassed of your old pal Joker now that you've gone and made yourself _respectable_." Joker's face contorted in an unpleasant grin with the last word and Nigma felt the stirrings of anxious butterflies in his stomach.

"The leather is new," he heard himself say. "I don't want the sun to fade it. Not after the small fortune I've spent on furbishing this place. No offence, Joker."

Joker's grin told him the clown wasn't fooled. "None at all, Eddie m'boy."

The two men stood at a short distance from each other, sizing each other up. Joker stood a full five inches taller than Nigma, and had a way of holding himself that made him seem even taller. The clown was grinning, full mouth of shark's teeth bared, and Nigma felt a certain queasiness in his gut. What did the clown want from him anyway?

Despite himself and his discomfort, Nigma couldn't help but take note of the clown's state. His hair was disarrayed and wild, his clothes were rumpled like an unmade bed and there was even a splotch of paint on his lapel. His shoes were scuffed and his pants cuffs were grimy. There was even the faintest hint of what might be a five o'clock shadow on the Joker's face - and Eddie shuddered at the thought.

"Troubles with the landlord Joker?" he finally spoke and Joker's eyes widened and he pursed his lips together in a mocking whistle.

"Oooh, Eddie, you are worthy of that inflated fee. Yes, it's true," Joker pressed a hand to his chest, the other against his forehead in a dramatic pose. "The little woman and I are temporarily bereft of accommodation." He abruptly shifted attitudes, coming forward with hands outstretched to clasp Nigma firmly by the shoulders, kneading them in a disturbingly intimate fashion. "So we thought we'd bunk down with you for a day or two! We knew you wouldn't mind!Heh heh."

Nigma opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Joker looked at him expectantly before a nasty leer sidled up his face, and Nigma promptly shut his mouth again. Inwardly, he berated himself as Joker let him go and turned away, running his gloved hands on everything he passed. He _shouldn't_ be afraid. He had been the Riddler, for chrissakes! Rubbed elbows with the likes of Poison Ivy, Two-Face, the Mad Hatter - and yes, even the Joker!

Trouble was, he'd always been a little afraid of all of them. Well, maybe not the Mad Hatter. But the others – he shuddered. He'd done his share of mayhem and murder, but he didn't share their ruthlessness and he'd never been much of one for physical combat.

And none of the Rogues were prepared to cross the clown. But even if squabbles broke out – as they invariably did – there was at least a reasonable amount of professional regard involved.

To which he was no longer truly entitled.

"Please don't touch that!" he yelped nervously as Joker picked up the Jade puzzle ball, turning it over and over in his hands. "It's a rare antique!"

"Not to worry, Eddsie!" Joker began to suddenly roll the ball between his hands, up and over the back of one, passing it to the other, spinning it out of sight before passing it behind one shoulder, where it rolled neatly down the length of his arm to be captured in his palm. Nigma watched with his heart in his throat. "I've done this before!" Joker suddenly faked a fumble and Nigma yelped and started forward before the Joker easily stopped the drop. "Made ya look!"he shrieked and Nigma raised clawed hands to clutch at the brim of his bowler, pulling it a little harder down on his head before turning and heading straight for the drinks cabinet. He needed _something_ to gird his loins through this ordeal.

(Permanently attached - it wasn't of the body, so he could dismiss tangibles such as hair and nails, skin, no it was something more of an _intangible_ nature, but what precisely and oh, who cared, he wasn't going to worry about the silly thing…)

Outside a helicopter rumbled low. Nigma noted it the same way he noted everything - including the way Harley Quinn was loudly snoring on one of his couches, her white greasepaint rubbing steadily off onto the shining leather. He cringed and yanked open the cabinet door, pulling out a bottle of Glen Livet scotch.

"Drink, Joker?" he queried shortly.

"A bleeped wile rimming," the Joker muttered and Nigma straightened up as he set out two glasses, frowning, mind automatically set to solving the puzzle.

His brow cleared as he poured out the first glass. "I'm a green-bellied wimp!" He realised what he'd said, as behind him the Joker cackled, and grimaced. "Droll, Joker. Here's your scotch."

He turned, glass in hand, to the sight of the Joker calmly juggling the set of antiques from his desk, throwing each one higher and higher in the air but not losing the rhythm of the act although the objects were all of differing sizes and weights. Joker's eyes were fixed firmly on him, as though he weren't even aware of what he was doing.

"A herded memory links!" Joker said playfully, one eyebrow cocked and Nigma pressed his lips shut. No way. He wasn't playing this game. He didn't _care_ what stupid anagrams Joker was throwing out there and he certainly didn't need to solve any, which he could in his sleep any -

"Riddles make me horny," he blurted out and then hit his forehead with one hand. Joker shrieked with laughter.

"Are we in kindergarten, Joker?" He couldn't quite keep the venomous superiority from his voice even as the rational part of his mind shrieked he was courting suicide. "Really."

Joker neatly passed each juggled object onto the table, one at a time, before giving the puzzle ball a final flip in the air and catching it, performing a sleight-of-hand so quick Nigma felt slightly giddy. Joker had 'transformed' the puzzle ball into a peacock feather, which he unfurled from his gloved hand and presented to the former criminal with a flourish and a smug grin. Nigma stared blankly at it, before accepting it curtly, not missing the implied meaning.

"For your hat, Eddie," Joker said so graciously it was clearly insincere.

"For your health, Joker," Nigma replied with equal grace, proffering him the glass of scotch.

Joker snatched it and swallowed the whole thing in one gulp, before holding the glass back out to Nigma and waggling it expectantly.

Nigma gaped. Was he serious? That was seventy-year old scotch! Grudgingly, he took the glass from Joker and strode back towards the drinks cabinet.

Outside another helicopter joined the first, the sound of the two engines beating the sky. _Must be something big going down_, Nigma thought absently to himself.

"If you're going to stay here, Joker," Nigma said evenly as he measured out more scotch while the clown leapt into his brand new desk chair and put his Cuban heels up on his brand new desk. "I'm going to have to ask you to keep it down. Wouldn't want the neighbours getting suspicious."

Joker was picking his teeth with Nigma's sterling silver letter opener, its end curved into a question mark. Nigma flinched at the sight but then simply sighed and let his shoulder slump before picking up the bottle and taking it over with the glass.

"Oh you don't need to worry about me, lamb chop," Joker smiled and then began to rifle through the desk drawers, pushing back in the armchair. "I'll be sweet as an angel on Christmas morning."

Nigma set the bottle and the glass on the leather inlay with a firm thud as Joker pulled out a large elastic band.

"Geese flexes kept ad hymns a mixt!" He chirruped, flicking the elastic at Harley Quinn. It bounced off her cheek and she woke with a start, blinking dazedly around her while the Joker looked innocently away. After a moment, she settled back down and swiftly fell asleep once more.

Nigma sighed, resigned to the game. "Tight spandex makes me feel sexy. And how about I jerk off to question marks?" He tried to get in a pre-emptive strike.

"You do?" Joker flicked another elastic band at Harley, quick as a flash looking away, hands innocently folded on his lap as the hapless moll once again blinked and sat up, looking confused. Nigma was beginning to understand why she looked so harangued. "Eddie, tee em eye! Plus, that's just crazy!"

Nigma rolled his eyes as Joker grinned, tapping one heel obnoxiously on the rich grain of the desk. "Talk to me, Eddiekins. Hows the life of virtue treating you? Not too shabby if our surroundings are anything to go by, heh!"

Nigma couldn't help but preen a little more. His business had indeed been going well and he was righteously proud. Plus, there was something bizarrely comfortable about the situation he was in. The more time passed, the more at ease he grew with the Joker's presence, the more natural the curious twistedness of their engagement felt. He was still on his guard and still a trifle nervous - not to mention indignant at the clown's behaviour - but he was also beginning to enjoy himself on some level. On top of that, he'd just been invited to talk about himself - and he was his own favourite subject after all!

"Excellently, thank you Joker," he perched on the edge of the desk and began to launch into his tale. "I've solved a few tricky little cases these last couple of weeks - nothing too over the top you understand, but of serious significance to those high profile clients who posed them to me. One dealt with the very mysterious disappearance of a prize cat - a Bengal as it happens - whose doting owner had a house full of the creatures. But this was the one she particularly adored - took the spoiled thing everywhere with her, fed her from the table, slept with her on the foot of the bed and the like - and she was seriously distraught."

Joker flicked yet another elastic band at Harley who sat up with a whimper and glared at them, certain they were the cause of her torment. But Joker's attention was fixed guilelessly on Nigma who was careful not to look at the girl and after a moment she slumped back down, rolling her back to them furiously. He marvelled for a moment that Joker's earlier peals of laughter had not so easily disturbed her slumber but then reasoned she must be used to it. He continued:

"She was convinced the cat had been kidnapped for ransom or stolen by a jealous competitor or some such. As it turns out, the whole thing was ridiculously simple. Her partner was fed up with the feline being afforded the lion's share of her paramour's attention, and had simply dyed the beast jet black. The cat had been there the whole time - simply in disguise, as it were - and the silly woman had never realised, pushing away this overly affectionate black mog in her distress at having lost her prized - "

"Blah blah blah!" The Joker suddenly interrupted, bringing Nigma's excited dialogue to an abrupt halt. "Borrrr-ing. Seriously, Eddie, _this_ is how you're spending your time? Doesn't really match up to matching wits with the Bat-tootie now, does it?"

Nigma bristled. Joker leered and reached forward for his drink - picking up the entire bottle and swigging from it. Nigma flinched when he noticed the damp circle it left behind on the leather inlay. "Oh, tut tut, Eddie, no need to get huffy," he teased. "Why don'tcha have a drink and loosen up!"

Still glowering, Nigma snatched what had formerly been Joker's glass and took a large sip, the sound of Harley Quinn's snores mingling with the thrum of the helicopters outside.

"Let's talk about something more interesting," Joker said decisively. "Like - me! Yeah, that's a great idea! C'mon Eddie - do me! Show off your deductive skills on something of true worth!"

How did anyone cope with the man's ego? Nigma flicked up the brim of his bowler and cast an appraising eye over the Joker's lanky form, feet folded at the ankles, leaning back in the desk chair, one arm cocked behind his head, the other hoisting the bottle again towards his red lips.

"Your hair has clearly been styled but has since been disarrayed, suggesting an exposure to the elements. Your clothes are rumpled, implying you have been obliged to live in them for an extended period of time without changing - by the growth of stubble on your chin and taking into account your remarked lack of body hair I would wager a guess at approximately forty-eight hours." The Joker was giggling deliriously to himself as Nigma continued to check off his observations. "There are shards of glass embedded into the soles of your shoes and one of the Iceberg Lounge's distinctive collectible glass straws in your breast pocket, indicating to a recent encounter with one Oswald Cobblepot. The cuffs of your pants are stained with a distinctive sort of dirt - a clear blend of fertiliser, mulch and, by the colour, a tropical earth - implying at some stage you tangled with Pamela Isley. The tuft of straw clinging tenaciously to the tail of your coat in addition to the glass beaker you clearly have in your pants pocket and, while less certain, I'd posit you've also passed some time in the company of Jonathon Crane. Finally, you've had a recent entanglement with Harvey Dent."

Joker raised his brows very high on his head. "How do you reckon that?"

Nigma shrugged. "A process of deduction. If it is true that you have spent time in the company of some of the foremost rogues of the city in the last forty-eight hours, then it stands to reason you were responsible for Two-Face's botched criminal endeavour." He came to a stop, feeling very pleased with himself. The Joker continued merely to leer and a twinge of unease coiled through his gut. "Er - am I correct?" He hated the note of uncertainty in his voice. It was just something in the clown's smile.

"Nicely done, Eddie," Joker hissed, flicking one more elastic band at his tormented girlfriend. "You could go head to head with the Bat for the title of World's Greatest Detective. Did you miss anything?"

Nigma felt very nervous. Even though the clown was still smiling, there was something markedly unpleasant in the grin. Only the Joker could make what was usually an indication of friendliness into an unmistakable threat. He clasped at his tie, loosening it nervously and peering a little closer at the Joker.

"Is - is that pink _lipstick_ on your mouth?" He questioned confusedly and suddenly the Joker's dangerous smile abruptly transformed into one of sheer amusement and he began to giggle while a furious growl rose from the couch.

Harley was glaring at the two of them, her makeup cracking further beneath her expression of rage.

"Don't think I've forgotten about that, clown!" She snapped, beginning to rise furiously from her resting position and Nigma loosened his tie still further. Joker just flapped a dismissive hand in her direction and pushed the desk chair back, leaping up to his feet and beginning to stride around the room. Harley pouted and crossed her arms, slumping on the couch in a strop.

Outside, the throbbing of helicopters continued and Nigma was distracted long enough to wonder what exactly in the hell was going on out there.

"Solved my little riddle yet, oh coarser torture a hit?"

Nigma absentmindedly solved the anagram as he raised his scotch glass to his lips. "Oh, treacherous - traitor." He stopped and looked at the Joker who stood by the long wall of windows, hands thrust in pockets, a quiet and sinister smile on his face.

Nigma wasn't feeling so comfortable anymore.

"What is permanently attached to you and yet constantly shifting?"he repeated the Joker's riddle out loud quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the Joker's gaze, as desperately as he fought to.

Joker chuckled and stepped back, hitting a button at the end of the wall. "Why, Eddie, isn't it obvious?"

The electronic blinds slid open with a soft whirr, revealing the city under full daylight and Nigma was barely aware of the scotch glass sliding from his hand to hit his brand new rug, spilling amber-coloured scotch on the pristine white weave as he was struck dumb with horror at what he beheld.

Three news helicopters hovered close by outside his window, desperate photographers and camera men hanging dangerously from their side flashing frantic pictures. In the buildings opposite, he could see a wall of flashing lights, indicating their occupation by further members of the press and could do nothing but stand there, gaping, as the opportunists fired off shot after shot of Edward Nigma, reformed criminal and respectable consulting detective, in the company of The Joker and Harley Quinn, drinking scotch at ten am on a Wednesday morning.

Joker bounded over to him, threw a chummy arm around his shoulders and waved gleefully to the cameras.

"Your reputation!" He declared triumphantly.

--

_Biiiiiig 'spank-yous' to my beta, Gladrial, for catching my errors. In this chapter, a particularly glaring continuity error which I had completely forgotten about and disregarded. Phew! Betas are good, have you kissed yours today? Kisses for Gladrial._

_This is just my own take on Riddler. I really like the character, but he's always struck me as a narcissist convinced of his own superiority, whilst being something of a wimp and useless in physical combat. And he's always also struck me as one of the 'nicer' Rogues – one who won't just kill at the drop of a hat and doesn't really have the stomach for violence. His crimes are more about proving his intellectual superiority than destroying people. Maybe he's even a bit of a softie. At any rate, he's more of a 'desk job super villain'._

_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my recently deceased friend, Query. I actually don't know if she'd even really like it as her take on Riddler was a bit different – he was far more ballsy when it came to Joker. But, seriously, I just feel ALL the Rogues know to be wary of him. But anyway, she was a freaking HUGE Riddler fan and you should all go and read her fics – she's on this site under the username Query. The world lost a beautiful soul when she departed and I want to see her memory live on in her fics. _


	7. Home Again Home Again

Three blocks from Nigma's apartment, the Joker strolled down an alleyway, whistling cheerfully to himself while Harley slouched behind, dragging the suitcase wearily along the pavement. All in all, he'd had a rather splendid couple of days. Lots of fun to be had. Ah, his pals, they were a jolly lot!

Or were they?

He frowned, suddenly perturbed. Actually, none of them had seemed to have much to say in the way of laughter.

Sure, they were supposed to get upset, that's what made him laugh. But then after they got upset, they were supposed to see the funny side and have a laugh themselves! Why didn't any of them GET IT! It was all in good fun! God, what a drab, droll and serious lot! It defied belief, really! However did they pass the days, always so somber, without a smile to light their gloom!

He began to feel really very annoyed with all of them. Stupid, insufferable fools! Ingratitude, that's what it was! He was doing his UTMOST to crack a few smiles and they all remained clueless. How dare they! Didn't they know how lucky they were! They were as bad as the Bat! No, worse! The Bat was supposed to take things seriously, that was his purpose. But these losers - UGH.

He was working himself further and further into a rage and barely noticed when Harley suddenly threw the suitcase down on the pavement and began to stride off in the other direction. He turned to ask her where the justice was, him having to share ranks with all these cretins, and saw her storming off down the street.

"Hey! Where the hell are you going?" He demanded.

She turned around without pausing in her stride, shouting back at him furiously, "_I__'__m_ going to find a hotel! I'm going to stay there, have a shower, get a decent night's sleep, and then go home!"

Joker gaped at her indignantly. "What about me?"

Harley had turned back around, continuing her flounce. "Try Club Med!" She threw back over her shoulder.

What? Harley? Having a joke at his expense? He ran after her and grabbed her by one arm.

"Hey there, little girl," he snarled, "don't you get cheeky with me."

She poked her tongue out at him and he made a grab for it, but she ducked out of his way and stood there glaring at him, her fists clenched.

"You got all our friends cranky at us, destroyed half their things, _and _got _me_ into all sorts of trouble! I'm sticky and sweaty and I smell and you just keep guzzling down that fear toxin so you don't need to sleep, without a thought for ME and how tired I might be! You're as helpless as a little boy without me to keep you together and you don't even show any appreciation! Well, listen to this buster, I'm not gonna take it anymore! I'm gonna find a place to hole up and what you do is your business! But you can leave me _outta it_!" She finished the last words in a shriek, stomped her foot and whirled away from him again.

He stared after her with a slack jaw before darting to catch her up, yanking her hard by one liliripes. "This is _my _fault?" He demanded. "_You__'__re_ the one who had the bright idea of getting the place fumigated so we couldn't stay there! It was you who made the suggestion to go and stay with our 'friends' - and that's another thing - they're YOUR friends, not MY friends. You KNEW that they would just seek to stifle my creative spirit, that their negative environments would bore and depress me! I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere, and do I get any thanks? No! Well, Harley-girl, you can toddle off and find your dirty dingy little hotel room and ride the vibrating bed!" He spat and Harley shrieked in outrage. "_**I**_ meanwhile am going to the Iceberg Lounge to party on with _Raven _and a bottle of Cristal. I've had enough of dizzy blondes to last me a lifetime! What do you think of _that_, huh?"

Harley bristled furiously, shaking her shoulders back and forth in her best expression of outrage before yelling back: "Do what you like! See if I care! She's a natural blonde anyway ya big bozo!"

"Ungrateful wench!" He spat back.

"Mincinglummox!"

"Insufferable brat!"

"Cheesy ham!"

"Tawdry floozy!"

Joker had by now wrapped his hands around Harley's throat who gagged then laid a well aimed kick between Joker's legs. Joker's eyes bulged and he yelped in pain and then leapt backwards releasing her. She jumped onto him, knocking him to the ground, but he threw up his body weight and rolled her over beneath him. She started to strangle him while he rained blows down on her head, both of them snarling and growling at each other with crazed expressions.

Suddenly a beeping sound came from the suitcase, discarded a few feet away and they both paused and stared at it. Any beeping sound that came from a suitcase of theirs was a cause for alarm.

But after a second Harley relaxed and her expression lit up. "Yay!" she cried.

"Yay?" Joker repeated and looked puzzlingly at her.

"Time's up! We can go home! Oh yay! Yay!" And she wrapped her arms around Joker's neck and kissed him soundly. "The Exterminator has finished! We can go to our home and sleep in our own bed and shower in our own shower!"

Joker bounded to his feet, punching both arms up the sky. "Huzzah!" he crowed then gallantly held out a hand and helped his girl to her feet then scooped her up and twirled her around while she squealed in delight.

Arms looped about the other's waist, they sauntered down the alleyway, Joker stooping to retrieve the suitcase as they passed.

"Better find ourselves some wheels," he said cheerily and his moll made a noise of agreement, leaning into him and nuzzling at his coat. He glanced down at her with a grin, before dropping a hand to squeeze her bottom.

"Say Harl, you packed the whoopee cushion right on top, right?"

--

_Enormous thanks go out to my fabulous beta, Gladrial, who really helped and supported me a lot through this fic. Hopefully it's helped me shake out my funny bone a little!_

_Hope you all enjoyed that! It was fun to write!_


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